


Left of Center, Bullseye on Hearts

by Michelle_A_Emerlind



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Bottom!Rick, But Happy Ending for All, But I imagine them as versatile in the future, Daryl/Shane with Relationship Issues, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Homophobic Language, M/M, Rick/Lori with Relationship Issues, Slow Burn, Top!Shane, bottom!daryl, top!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 57,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Daryl and Rick meet, sparks fly and the chemistry is so thick it could be cut with a knife. The only problem? Rick is still stuck in a failing marriage and Daryl is trying to make it work for the millionth time with Shane, even though this attraction to Rick doesn't just feel like lust--it feels something more like love. But with everything stacked against them, do they even have a chance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start of It All

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY! I've been saying for two months now that I've been working on a Rickyl novel, so here it finally is! I'm not sure what took me so long with this one when all my other stories came out lightning quick, but what's done is done I guess. The point is that this one is finished and I'm just going through a final betaing (thank you, skarlatha!). 
> 
> This story is complete and will be posted a chapter a day. I hope you guys enjoy and please make a note that there will be a happy ending for everyone!

In the years to come, Rick will look back on this and tell himself that he should have known from the first second he met Daryl how everything from then on would pan out. Examining it later, it’s so simple. So absolutely obvious, as crystal clear as mountain water. But in the here and now, things aren’t always so illuminated and he guesses that he’s a bit too caught up in his own life, his own marital drama and the day-in, day-out boring old grind to be able to really notice the start of everything standing right in front of him. Hindsight is 20-20. And a total and utter bitch.

The day he meets Daryl is normal enough, the only thing out of the ordinary Shane’s pissy attitude. They have desk duty and every time Rick looks up from across the room to catch Shane’s attention, Shane is staring angrily at his computer screen or his phone. Rick doesn’t think much of it, chalks it up to a bad night’s sleep or to the fact that the Braves lost their last game. He doesn’t realize the extent of Shane’s mood or the reason for it, but then again why would he? The future can only reveal all of the many things that Shane is keeping from him.

There isn’t much that morning that Rick pays attention to--the details of his drive in with Shane are fuzzy and the only thing he really notices is that Shane's jaw is set a little tighter than it usually is. Rick hardly gives any thought to the case files he’s working on, barely processing them in his mind as work. He doesn’t notice if Traci, the office secretary, is in or out, or if Leon is being a nuisance or calm for once, if their cells are empty or full.

But what he _does_ notice is the slam of their office door that causes five separate cops to turn their heads. He pays attention to the pissed off and angry country boy storming through the line of desks like he belongs there and he is distinctly aware of his own thoughts regarding the gun at his hip and if he’ll have to use it.

Two cops stand up from their desks and Rick’s muscles bunch to push himself up as well, but by that time Shane has shot out of his office chair and has held out a hand to his fellow officers to hold down. “Daryl,” Shane says, his voice low and _angry_ with warning.

The man doesn’t pause one second, just keeps coming hard and fast across the carpet of their office and chucks something at Shane with such force and velocity it might as well be a bullet. Rick sees it shine in the fluorescent light and hit Shane in the chest, then fall down uselessly at his feet--a necklace with the number “22” dangling from the center.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Daryl yells, letting his voice carry through the office, “we’re _over_.”

He spins on his heel without even letting Shane get in one word edgewise, but Shane yells his name anyway, stooping down to pick up the necklace.

Daryl twists around, but keeps walking backwards. He lifts his arms out to his sides and shrugs. “What, _Shane_? I don’t give a fuck if your fucking friends know,” he raises his fingers in air quotes, “you’re a fucking _fag_.” And then he turns on his heel again and heads back out the way he came.

As he walks, he’s forced to go beside Rick’s desk and as Rick looks up at him with wide eyes, Daryl jerks forward in that gangster manner like he wants to scare the shit out of Rick. “What the fuck you lookin’ at?” he growls and then storms off, carrying anchors and pounds of anger with him.

Rick is the last one to look away from the door that bangs closed, the last one to turn and look at Shane, who is beet red and stumbling toward the front of the station himself. Rick watches him go and questions buzz around in his head like little angry bees.

***

Shane gets to Daryl’s truck before Daryl has properly pulled out of the parking lot, but he doesn’t give one little bitty tiny hard balled shit. He guns it and watches as Shane has to hop out of the way to not be plowed over and just for extra measure, Daryl throws his hand out of the driver’s side window and flips Shane the fuck off, not really caring if there are video cameras and he’s risking getting arrested for assaulting an officer. Shane would do it, too, Daryl thinks. The bastard.

Daryl is halfway to the interstate when his phone rings and he swears to god that the ringtone is _angrier_ when Shane calls. He lets it go for the first ring, thinking that he’s not going to give the dick the honor of picking up. The second ring comes and he’s still as solid as steel. But the third ring hits and angry little phrases are boiling up within his body that just want to come out and he wants to _hurt_ Shane with the same hard searing pain that Shane has hurt him with, so he picks up and hears “DARYL!” yelled into the phone with that way, _way_ too familiar outburst of rage. “The FUCK do you think you’re FUCKING doing, coming into my WORK, you goddamn PRICK.”

“Serves you right, dicklicker,” Daryl says and takes the recommended 30 mph exit at around 50.

“ _Get back here_ ,” Shane says, his voice low and demanding, as if he doesn’t know that Daryl locks up as stubborn as a donkey when he’s ordered around.

“Not goin’ happen, Sweet’ums,” Daryl says. “Shoulda thought of that went you left me last night. We’re over, Shane. I mean it this time. So far, _far_ over that I’ve forgotten what you’re goddamn name is. So go fuck yourself. In the ass. With a dirty infected nightstick ‘cause I don’t give one little fuck about you.” And then he slams the end button down on the call and chucks the phone in the passenger floorboard, lets it ring to its heart’s content.

He floors the truck and weaves in and out of the interstate traffic until he gets to the last exit for town. He pulls off at a little old gas station that he never frequents so Shane can’t fucking _find_ him if he’s looking. As soon as the truck rolls to a stop, he flops back into his seat, bites his thumb, and stares out at the blue, _blue_ summer sky.

The phone keeps ringing. Daryl sighs and reaches forward, digs the phone out of the floorboard and looks at the number. Shane. He answers, immediately hangs up, and then, quick so Shane can’t call back, he dials Merle’s number.

Merle picks up and Daryl can hear the TV blaring in the background. “You ain’t double Ds,” Merle says and grunts. “So talk to you later. I’m waiting by the phone, man. Baited breath.”

“Wait,” Daryl says and sighs super heavily. “Dumped Shane, man. For _real_ this time.”

Merle grunts and the sound carries more boredom than it does surprise. “What’d he do now?”

“Was out last night,” Daryl says and groans. “At a club.”

“A…” Merle trails off and Daryl can just see the lewd hand motion. “...club?”

“No. Just a club, Merle. An _average_ club. Having an alright time, too, I guess. Danced together once or twice.” He pauses and chews his lip. “Guy at the bar asked Shane if we were together. Shane didn’t know I was behind him, but I heard. He said we weren’t.”

“Ah, don’t get your panties in a twist--” Merle starts, but Daryl pushes on.

“Said he ‘hated that fag.’”

There’s a pause, loud in the absence of Merle’s gruff voice. “...called my baby brother a fag, did he?”

“Yeah. And then he left me. _Left me, Merle_. At a strange bar. Jesus! And you were out wherever the fuck you were so I had to get a cab. And then I tried to call him this morning and he said he was working and I told him it was important and he told me to stop being a little bitch.”

“You ain’t no bitch,” Merle says, consoling. “And I’m home now, so why don’t you drive back, huh? Got some Natty in the fridge. We’ll drink it on the porch and listen to good old Charlie and you can tell me just how small his dick is.”

Daryl smiles despite himself and nods, trying to blink back the water in his eyes and the sense of rage in his throat. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll come home.”

***

Shane storms back into the police station, but the rest of the officers turn their heads, trying hard not to look like they’re incredibly invested in the drama. Shane stops at Rick’s desk and practically growls at him. “What’s the name of that flower shop you went to to get Lori flowers last month? Heart somethin’, right?”

“Heart’s Treasure,” Rick answers easily and when Shane asks, he pulls up the number on his phone.

“Little dick,” Shane mutters under his breath, “don’t even know why I’m tryin’. You think dudes like roses?” he asks Rick. Rick just raises his eyebrows and shrugs since he has no idea how to handle this conversation. Shane grunts and continues. “Doesn’t matter. He’s a little bitch either way.” He dials the number Rick gives him and listens for someone to pick up. “Hey, yeah. I need two dozen roses,” he says into the phone. “What? That much. Ah, fuck it. Make it one dozen. Yeah. To Daryl. No, with a ‘y.’ Who the hell spells it with an ‘e’? Yeah, okay.” Rick listens to him give out the address. “Tag? Sure. Say ‘Sorry’. Yeah, thanks. Cool.” He hangs up and shakes his head. “Sixty bucks. Ain’t even worth it.” He lets out a hard breath.

Rick blinks up at him. “Hey,” he says slowly. “Um...doesn’t matter, to me. You know. That you’re--”

“Don’t,” Shane says, cutting him off. “Ain’t. Slut’s just under my skin.” He rubs at his jaw and then closes his eyes, sighing hard before stomping back over to his desk.

For the rest of the day, Rick leaves Shane alone, partly because he doesn’t know what to say and partly because when he tries to engage Shane in conversation later that afternoon, Shane just snaps at him that he’s not in the mood for any bullshit.

Their shift ends at six and he’s thankful that Lori is there to pick him up as he doesn’t want to ride back home with Shane. Shane seems equally grateful as he peels out of the parking lot and heads off in the opposite direction of his house. Rick sighs and slips into the passenger’s seat of the white SUV, going immediately from the fiery hostile environment of his work to the ice cold stillness of his marriage.

It takes them three stop lights before either one of them speaks and, frankly, that’s a better track record than usual. Lori clears her throat and asks overly politely if Rick has had a good day. Rick nods and automatically says he has, the words out of his mouth before he even thinks about Shane. He asks Lori about her day and she says it was fine, mentions grocery shopping and how the store was out of Honey Nut Cheerios, so she got him Lucky Charms. Rick nods and reminds her that payday is tomorrow and that he’ll mail the bills. She responds with a reminder that he needs to make sure to add their quarterly water bill to the list.

And then silence, the only noise the rush of the tires against the highway and the passing of other cars. Rick lets it go for another stoplight and then he reaches forward, presses the button on the radio. Lori takes in a sharp hard breath, but holds it, like she doesn’t want Rick to know it’s a sigh. Rick sets his jaw and lets her have her little victory, tries too hard not to think of the time so long ago when he would have said they were happy.

***

Carl is staying at a friend’s house since it’s Wednesday, which is supposed to be date night according to their therapist. Rick suggests that they go out to a restaurant, but Lori insists that it would feel more intimate if they cooked, so Rick just nods and helps her wash vegetables, cut them up and add them to a stir-fry. They move around each other like bumper cars, constantly getting in one another's way and flinching back when their elbows touch or their sides collide. Rick can’t remember a time when he touched her softly and she didn’t tense under his hand, when his calloused fingers didn’t feel like fire burning the life out of her. In one of their sessions, she had told him how she hated him touching her uninvited and he had simply nodded and said he would do as she wished and start asking. He asks. She says no.

They fix the stir-fry together and it comes out very well, almost professional in the subtlety of its flavors, but the small victory between them means nothing in the face of the silence around the dinner table, in the way Rick’s fork keeps hitting the plate and scraping it loudly, in the way Lori pushes her food around and doesn’t eat. Lori fills her wine glass for the second time and takes a long and thorough drink. Rick wonders what he has ever done to make her hate him.

“Shane,” he starts, because what other conversation can he use, “was acting weird today.”

“Oh?” she says, staring at her fork in boredom.

“Did you know he was dating someone?”

“Colleen, right?” Lori asks and finally looks up at him, her brown eyes dulled, reflecting Rick’s.

“No, um...didn’t look like Colleen,” Rick says and takes a bite of his food.

“Probably dyed her hair,” Lori says and Rick’s skin bristles with her distrust, with her inability to acknowledge that Rick might be right.

“No, definitely didn’t look like Colleen,” he says and then pauses. “It was a man.”

Lori scoffs. “Shane isn’t gay,” she says and stands, picks up her mostly full plate and takes Rick’s as well, even though he’s not finished. “You must have been mistaken,” she says and walks into the kitchen, starts scraping the food into the trashcan.

Rick stands and follows her. “Bought him a dozen roses,” Rick says, defiant. Lori pauses and then gives one final push with her fork to knock off the last of a strip of chicken.

“Well, probably a phase then.” She sits the two plates in the sink and turns on the water, picking up a sponge.

“I know what I saw, Lori,” Rick insists.

Lori turns to him, her eyes snapping quick into a burning kind of righteousness. “I never said you _didn’t_.”

Rick sighs, heavy and loud. “Why do you keep doing this? Why can’t we have just _one_ nice night together.”

Lori widens her eyes and shakes her head, spinning back around to the sink. “We can. We were. Nothing wrong with tonight.”

“Yes, there was,” Rick says and watches her tense and angrily scrub at a plate.

“I can’t read your mind, Richard,” she says. “If you would just _say_ something, if you would just _tell_ me when you’re upset--”

“I’m not upset!”

“Then why is your voice raised?” she asks, turning and putting her hand on her hip.

“Well,” Rick says, faltering. “I wasn’t.”

“See,” Lori says and points a finger at him. “This. This is what I was talking to Dr. Tanner about. You can’t acknowledge your feelings, Rick. You refuse to deal with them. Yell at me if you want to yell at me. It’s that simple. Stop shutting everything down.”

“I’m not--”

“I can’t do this tonight,” she says and walks to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. “I’m going to bed.” She shuts the kitchen light off, leaving Rick in the dark, listening to her footfalls getting more and more distant.


	2. Roses and Dinner Plans

When Daryl gets out of the shower, Merle is standing by the door awkwardly, holding a dozen roses in a way-too-girly pink vase and looking like Lady Gaga has just won the presidential elections. Daryl sighs heavily and stomps over, grabs the vase out of his hand and checks the card. Just as he thought. No name.

Daryl scoffs. “Can’t even bother to tell the damn florist he’s gay,” he mutters and drops the roses into the trash blossoms first, hears the vase clink against the side.

“Those were pretty,” Merle tells him and Daryl just shakes his head, grabs a beer from the fridge and pops it open.

“Don’t give a shit,” he says and starts drinking.

Merle grunts and sits back down on the couch. “You know, maybe you should give the guy a little slack.”

Daryl groans. “Not this again. God. Why do you always defend him, huh? Why can’t he just be a douche fucker?”

“IS a douche fucker,” Merle says, “breaking my brother’s heart. But...I guess I just get it. Hard to tell others you’re a fairy.”

“Well, he’s had plenty of time to get over it,” Daryl says and storms over to the couch, flopping down next to Merle. “I ain’t made him do anything he hasn’t wanted to.”

Merle grunts. “No, I get it. Just sayin’...hard I bet. To admit it.”

Daryl just shrugs and looks at the TV that’s softly belting out music videos. He checks the clock. Four thirty. Means he’s got about two hours until Shane comes knocking on his door.

***

True to form, Daryl hears the car peel into the driveway at 6:28, just ten minutes after Merle has left for work. He lets the knock go four times before he throws open the door, scowling with the best of them. “Shane,” he says.

“Hey, Shorty,” Shane says and Daryl rolls his eyes, knowing full well that it’s only Shane’s poofed up hair that makes him taller. But still. The nickname makes him swallow hard because he _knows_. After all this time, he knows. This is Shane’s “take me back” voice, this is his “I want to be sweet” tone.

“No,” Daryl says. Simple is best. It’s over, he tells himself again. It’s always over.

Shane licks his lips and nods, sticking his thumbs in his belt. But then he looks back up at Daryl, his big brown eyes wide and he curves his mouth into that _smile_ that could down a fully-charging rhino. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “I am. Real sorry. Shouldn’t have said those things.” He arches his eyebrows. “About you. You know what it’s like. You know how rough it is for me.”

“Shane, I really don’t think--”

“Ssshhh,” Shane says and steps forward, putting his hands around Daryl’s neck and pulling him toward his chest. Daryl stumbles not from Shane’s grip, but because his body wants to and then Daryl’s forehead is against Shane’s and Shane is speaking so close to him and it’s almost, _almost_ like Shane would kiss him here on the porch, in full view of the neighborhood. “I ain’t worth you, but I’m tryin’. You get it. So come on. Bought you roses.”

Daryl scoffs. “Threw ‘em away,” he mutters.

Shane frowns and pulls back for a moment. “Man, those were _sixty bucks_.”

“Don’t give a shit. Threw ‘em away.” Daryl says, but this time it comes out as more of a laugh than any serious statement. Shane smiles at him again, sensing the cracks in his armor, and licks his lips. “See, Shorty? I know you.”

Daryl shakes his head, but he can’t think of anything to say, all the anger seeping out of him like steam from a shower. “Kiss me,” he says, catching Shane’s eyes.

Shane nods and does, backing him up into the house and kicking the door shut with his heavy combat boots. He throws Daryl up against the living room wall, plasters himself to Daryl’s front and kisses him with all kinds of hard angles and pressure. He puts his thumbs on either side of Daryl’s neck, right along his collarbone and presses in like he always does, holding Daryl’s neck there. It’s the little things, Daryl thinks, that make them them.

He slides a hand to Shane’s ass and squeezes, holding on and Shane kisses him until he pulls a moan from Daryl’s mouth, grinning at his own victory. He pulls back slightly and digs in his pocket, pulls out the necklace. Daryl stares at it in the light, watches the metal 22 glitter in front of him. “You took it off, you little whore,” Shane tells him, grinning.

Daryl shoves at him. “Not a whore,” he mutters, but shakes his hair back off his neck. “But go on if you gotta.”

Shane smiles wide and free and Daryl puts his hands on Shane’s hips, knowing Shane loves this part. Shane unhooks the clasp, both of them knowing full well that he could just throw it over Daryl’s head, but he doesn’t want to. He likes to do it like this so that he can clasp the necklace gently around Daryl’s neck almost like a form of love, so that he can bend across Daryl’s shoulder in a fake gesture to see what he’s doing and so he has easy access then to put his lips next to Daryl’s ear, to bite down and then start sucking at his neck. “There,” Shane whispers against his skin. “All mine.”

Daryl sucks in a hard breath and lets Shane push him up into the wall, lets Shane take him. One of the only real points in Shane’s favor is the make-up sex. They fuck hard and fast, up against walls or down in the carpet, on tables and chairs and hard planes of surfaces, their mouths not meeting, but always ending up on each other’s skin, teeth scraping hard like ownership and determination. This time, they start in the living room, but end in the bedroom, Shane carrying him around like a fucking gorilla and Daryl practically high on the feel of his abs and his hands digging so rough into Daryl’s skin.

When it’s over, Daryl lays there, content for once while Shane stares at the ceiling, his brow furrowed and his lips set into a thin line. When Daryl shifts closer to him and reaches out a hand to touch his chest, Shane flinches. “Should clean up this place,” Shane whispers. “Looks like a meth head lives here.”

Daryl growls at him and jumps out of bed, heading for the bathroom. “WHAT?” Shane calls, leaning up on his elbow and holding out his other hand in question. “You pissed at me _again_?”

“Fuck you,” Daryl tells him and slams the door fully shut, the gulf between them more than just a bed and a rug, filled to the brim with both of their insecurities.

***

Rick picks at the breakfast sandwich still half lodged in the wrapper, pulling out the sausage that’s mostly warm and leaving the cold egg. Across from him Shane is leaning back in the passenger’s side of the cop car, texting with a little quirk on his face that could almost be a smile.

“Daryl?” Rick asks, just going for it.

Shane stops and blinks up at him and then frowns, grunting. “Don’t want to talk about it,” he says and goes back to his phone.

Rick raises an eyebrow. “Alright,” he says.

“Just not gay,” Shane tries to clarify.

Rick shrugs. “Alright,” he says again.

“I mean, I like tits.”

“Okay.”

“Like big ones.”

“Sure.”

“And some nice curves.”

Rick nods.

“Daryl doesn’t have curves.”

Rick shakes his head.

“So I’m not gay.”

“But you’re dating him?”

Shane grunts.

Rick looks out the window of the car.

“Yeah,” Shane says.

Rick slides his eyes back over and takes a bite of the top piece of sandwich bread. “Don’t bother me none. Who you date,” he says and when Shane just makes a little noncommittal sound and grins at something he’s texting, Rick pushes forward. “How’d you meet?”

Shane blinks at him. “Uh...at the winter music festival in Atlanta,” he says and the tips of his ears grow red. Rick blinks and looks down at the mutilated wrapper hiding a half-eaten slab of egg.

“...you mean...the one in February?” he asks. “Shane, that was six months ago.”

Shane grunts and then bites his lip, looks out the passenger side window. “Nah, man. Uh, last year.”

Rick stares at him. “Last…”

“Been awhile I guess,” Shane says and throws the phone down in the cupholder between them. Rick glances at it briefly, just barely catches sight of a lewd looking little emoticon with the tongue out followed by a tiny green heart. He blinks.

“Year and a half,” he says.

Shane nods. “Yeah. Guess so.”

“And you...didn’t want to tell me about him.”

Shane sighs and looks over at Rick, arching his eyebrows. “Look, man. It wasn’t that important.” He licks his lips and then leaves his tongue pressed up to his teeth. “At first. And then...I don’t know. Been too long, you know? To just tell you I’d got someone. And then, shit. We fight like dogs and I could never find a good time to talk to you, I guess.”

Rick nods and then thinks of something, just one little lightning fast thought. “Didn’t you date Colleen in December?”

“SSSHHH, man!” Shane says and looks around like he’s being stalked. “DON’T tell Daryl that, alright? Promise me, okay? Colleen...Colleen was an _accident_. Just was drunk a couple of nights. Colleen ain’t nothin’.”

Rick pauses. “But...but Daryl is.”

Shane scoffs, but then looks up at Rick, his eyes chocolate brown and huge. “...yeah. Yeah, Rick. He’s somethin’.”

Rick wads up his wrapper and chucks it down next to Shane’s phone. “Okay, so when do I get to meet him? I mean, officially. Without him yelling at me and storming up in a police station.”

Shane rubs the back of his neck. “Kinda my fault, that. Was pissed at me and should've been. Um, but I don’t know. Soon. We’ll pick a time.”

“Hey,” Rick says and gets a strike of inspiration. “Double date. Come on. Next Wednesday, okay? That’s date night, right, and I don’t have anything to take Lori to and nothing to do with her. This would be great. Maybe some time with other couples would help us and I’m sure she wants to meet your new boy--”

“Don’t call him my boyfriend,” Shane snaps over him. “Just a dude I’m dating.”

“...okay. Well, I’m sure that Lori would like to meet him. What’d you say?”

Shane sticks his tongue between his teeth and thinks about it, before nodding once decisively. “Sure. Sounds good.” His phone dings and his hand snaps forward. Rick watches as he smiles and starts keying over the letters.

***

When Rick gets home, Lori is sitting on the couch, wearing a nice skirt and fiddling with the purse in her lap. She has on her “going out” lipstick, the nice pink matte that accentuates her blush and eyeliner and she looks so good that Rick smiles at her despite himself, caught up in a time when he might have just scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.

Lori looks away from him, but smiles back slowly. “I, um...I thought we’d go out tonight,” she says. “Forget about Wednesday date nights. We should do them when we feel like it.” She runs her hands over her purse and then stands up, brushing down her skirt. “I got a babysitter. And there’s a new art gallery that’s opening. I thought we could give it a go.”

Rick nods, hanging up his hat and dropping his badge in the little dish by the door. “Let me go change, then sure.” He pauses beside the couch, but then leans forward to kiss her cheek. Before he makes contact, he hesitates. “May I?”

Lori screws up her lips, but nods and Rick gives her a gentle peck, careful of her makeup. He smiles and touches her arm lightly. “Be _right_ back,” he says and scoots quickly to the bathroom, rushing through tidying up and changing before the mood breaks.

They climb into the car together and head out and Rick strikes up conversation to fill the silence. Lori smiles back at him and even if it doesn’t quite meet her eyes, it’s _better_. They talk about the last time they went to an art gallery, about the museum in Atlanta that they love so much, about how Carl might be sweet on Enid, the girl that lives two roads over from them. Rick tells Lori about Shane and his conversation, about the double date and she agrees to go, as eager as Rick is to meet the man that Shane has been _dating_ for a year and not just fucking.

As they’re pulling into the parking lot, though, Lori sighs and purses her lips. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice brittle like glass. “For last night.”

Rick shakes his head. “Forgotten,” he says.

“Shouldn’t be,” she tells him and reaches down to brush a speck of dust off her shirt. “You should hate me. I’m always _baiting_ you and it was entirely my fau--”

“Lori,” Rick says and reaches over, puts his hand on her cheek. She flinches, but then slowly softens her muscles, relaxing into his touch. He continues. “I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for both of us. Let’s just take it a day at a time, okay? Yesterday was a bad day. Let’s make today a good one.”

Lori sighs and nods. She lets Rick step out of the car and open her door, lets him loop his arm within hers as they walk to the art gallery, even sticks by his side as they browse the artistically abstract paintings. Lori points out things like techniques and brush, the emotions that the pieces are supposed to display and Rick nods along with her, lets her lead him in interpretation.

And then they hit upon a piece that Lori can’t quite get a handle on. It’s blue, so very startlingly blue. But deep, kind of. The lines swirl around each other, hitting and diving away, creating a scratchy kind of rhythm that Lori doesn’t seem to be able to pinpoint. Rick blinks at it and thinks somehow that it reminds him of Daryl--the hard edged lines like the anger in his walk as he busted into the police station, the swirls like the angle that he threw the necklace. And weren’t his eyes that color of blue?

“Anger,” Rick says and nods. Lori looks over at him, her eyes wide and open, _seeing_ him for the first time in weeks. “That’s what I think,” Rick continues, weakly. “It looks...turbulent, I guess. Angry.”

To his surprise, Lori smiles at him and reaches down, threads her fingers in his. Her skin is smooth, soft, and warm. He squeezes her hand and feels her palm pressed against his firmly, like the solidity of a marriage that’s not quite over. He swallows and looks up at the painting and _hopes_ with every fiber in him that both of them will be okay, that somehow they’ll make it out of this for the better. That there will be a time in the not distant future when someone will turn to Rick and ask him how he’s doing and he’ll say “fine” and it won’t be a lie, when they ask him if he’s happy and he’ll say “yes” and mean it.


	3. Four at Odds

Beside his knee, Daryl’s phone lets three dings go in quick succession. Daryl sighs and looks down, twisting the wrench to firmly lodge the bolt of the air conditioner in place. He wipes his hand on his thigh and picks up the phone, sliding into his messages, thumbing to the Shane tab:

“Hey. It’s Wednesday and remember we’re doing the double date tonight.”

“Wear something nice. Let me know if you need me to buy you some shit.”

“What are you wearing right now? Bet you’re a nasty boy.”

Daryl rolls his eyes and looks back up at the air conditioner he’s working on that’s almost ready to go. His phone dings again: “I know you’re looking. What? You don’t want to sext me?”

Daryl sighs and types back: “Oh, baby.”

“Yeah, you take off them overalls,” Shane texts back and Daryl shakes his head. When in the hell has he ever worn _overalls_ in front of Shane? He finishes tightening the last of the bolts to hold the back of the air conditioner in place and steps into the house, turning the unit on and checking to makes sure everything is in working order. “Come on,” his phone dings at him, “your job ain’t that important.” And then “pay attention to me,” “I’m bored,” “Come on,” “Tell me about your cock.”

Daryl lets out a little huff straight through his nose and turns to tell Mrs. Nolton that her unit should be good to go. He accepts her tip and smiles gratefully at her before crawling in his truck and typing out before he starts driving: “Hot for you. Getting so hard thinking about your abs (also leaving a house, so texting at stoplights, dick).” He sets his phone down beside him and pulls the truck out of the driveway, heading back to the shop.

His phone flashes: “(Okay. Be safe). I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to go cross-eyed. (Want a dick pic)?”

Daryl yells _shit_ into his truck, but doesn’t get to a stoplight fast enough to tell Shane _no, goddammit_ and before long there is the very distinctive longer beep of a picture coming in. Daryl rolls his eyes and slams his head back on the seat headrest. His life.

***

Lori wears a nice summer dress that accentuates her shoulders and long legs, light green in a way that brightens up her brown eyes and gives them just that hint of hazel that Rick had just raved about when they’d first gotten together. She’s gone full swing through her apologetic phase and like clockwork, they’ve arrived back at cold indifference. Rick thinks about changing date night to Thursday night since it seems like it might be more productive, even if it is temporary and fleeting.

Rick grips the steering wheel tight as he drives and lets his other hand thump uselessly on his knee, twitching to turn on the radio, but not daring to upset Lori even further. He pulls into the Golden Corral they’ve chosen as a neutral meeting place--“You can’t bring them to Red Robin,” Lori had said, scoffing. “What if Daryl doesn’t like _burgers_ , Rick. What if he’s vegetarian?” As if there weren’t vegetarian options at Red Robin. As if Shane would date someone who wouldn’t eat meat.

He steps out of the car and moves to open the door for Lori, but she stomps out of the passenger’s side before he even gets a chance, slams the door shut and turns to him, not quite meeting his eyes, but deciding to look at his forehead instead. “Ready?” she says. “Let’s go meet the _boyfriend_.” She spits the word out like it’s poison and Rick wonders for a second if he’s the only one in the south who’s strangely _fine_ with the gay thing, who’s treating this like just an average outing--the best friend meeting the new partner.

Rick sighs and follows her, jogging to the restaurant entrance and pulling open the door before she gets there. She swallows and sets her jaw like this is some kind of loss she’s going to have to live with on their constant tally of victories and defeats. Rick looks away from her, tired and frustrated. They step to the cashier and Rick pays for two buffets with drinks, but before either one of them make it to the dining area, Lori puts her hand on Rick’s bicep, pulls him to a stop.

“I want a nice night,” she says and blinks up at him. “I’m going to...I’m going to try to be in a better mood. I’m going to try to be nice to him. Can you do that, too?”

Anger boils up within Rick and he almost, _almost_ snaps off that he isn’t the one that’s been acting like a prima donna for the last three hours. But instead, he nods and says, “yeah, of course” and lets Lori lead the way. When the two men come in sight, Rick has to do a doubletake. They are sitting side-by-side at a table with both of their phones out, laughing ridiculously loud and getting strange looks from the four-person family sitting behind them. Daryl has his knee up on the chair, leaning against the table and his clothes look especially haggard, like he came straight from some form of outdoor job. Rick tries to picture what the man would do, if he would work as a mechanic or a farmer of if he’s actually a cashier at a grocery store, a web-designer-- _god forbid_ , an office worker.

Rick makes a decision then and there. It doesn’t matter what Daryl does, it doesn’t matter what he’s interested in or his religion or his view on politics or if he thinks that Will Ferrell is actually funny. If he’s making Shane happy, that’s enough. If he can make Shane laugh like that, nothing else matters. Rick will be his friend. Rick will support them.

But then, as Lori and Rick approach the table, Daryl glances up at him and Rick takes in a sharp breath despite himself, lost for a moment in a sea of deep, dark blue. _Nothing_ like the painting, Rick thinks, that has a color that was too dull, too even and not nearly dark enough, more like the colors of oceans and rivers and not like _this_ \--the dark feel of damp denim that’s been worn and used not because it was needed, but because it was loved, because it was comfortable and it _fit_. Rick blinks and looks away and that one motion takes all of his energy, like pulling tangled velcro apart.

“Daryl Dixon,” the man says and reaches his hand out across the table. Rick studies his arm, the muscles flexed as they jut out of the sleeveless shirt. He nods and reaches forward, grasps Daryl’s hand and gives it a hard shake.

“Rick Grimes,” he says and smiles.

“Think we met before, _Rick Grimes_.”

“That we have,” Rick tells him.

“Promise I won’t be such a dick this time,” Daryl says, “and you can look all you want to.”

Rick laughs, thinking back to Daryl with his hands up and his chest jutting forward, the gruff _What the fuck you lookin’ at?_ He puts his hands on his belt and nods. “Well, I’m not in my uniform, so that sure does help, I bet.”

Daryl smiles, just the tiniest corner of his mouth tilting up in a gesture that others might miss, but Rick is keyed in to on some level like chemistry. Daryl clicks his tongue. “Kinda miss the hat, though.”

Rick shakes his head, a ridiculous smile on his face, and it’s only then that the scene around him blurs in and he notices that Lori and Shane are just watching the two of them. Daryl seems to notice it at the same time and he just arches one eyebrow up and shrugs. “Let’s eat. _Hungry_.”

He stands and then seems to realize he hasn’t introduced himself to Lori. He nods at her and holds out his hand awkwardly. “Daryl,” he says and Rick watches as she takes his hand feather light and shakes it.

“Lori,” she says and nods back at him and then the four of them are up and headed to the buffet. Lori makes a beeline for the salad bar and Rick ignores it, not because he isn’t interested in the food, but because he wants to give them the briefest second of _space_ from one another. He starts examining the hot food, piles half of his plate full of mashed potatoes and the soft biscuits with the cheese in the middle. He gets to the end of that line and to a pan filled to the brim with fried chicken. He bends down and lets his eyes scour the pile for just the perfect drumstick and when he sees it, he grabs the tongs from his side, reaches out to grab it. As he does, though, the metal clicks with a second set of tongs coming from the other side and Rick blinks, jerking back and looking up to see Daryl standing there, looking equally surprised.

Rick motions for him to take it and Daryl gives that little lip quirk again and picks up the drumstick and then gingerly lifts it up to Rick’s plate and drops it down. “I ain’t picky,” he says and grabs another one. Rick smiles despite himself.

“So you and Shane,” he says as he and Daryl head back to the table together, Daryl sticking his finger in his mouth to lick off a drop of gravy that had landed on it.

Daryl nods. “Yeah.”

Rick gives him an up-and-down gesture. “Don’t really seem like the kind of person he likes.”

Daryl scoffs. “You mean I don’t have honkers? Yeah, I know.” He pauses for a second and narrows his eyes at Rick. “Or you mean cause I’m a redneck?”

Rick shakes his head and then blushes. “Meant the honkers.”

Daryl laughs. “Cool. Just so you know, I don’t always dress like this. Wanted to piss him off.”

Rick chuckles. “Bet it worked.”

“Hell yeah it did,” Daryl says as he gets back to the table.

“Hell yeah, what?”

“Nothin’, Sweet’ums,” Daryl says and plops down his plate. Shane slides his eyes over to Daryl’s food and grunts, then reaches over and grabs one of Daryl’s two rolls and starts peeling it apart. Daryl glares at him and picks up his fork, stabbing at a green bean angrily. “Fuckin’ buffet. Get your own damn roll.”

“Forgot,” Shane says and tears into it. “And watch your language. You’re around a lady, not that you’re used to it.”

Daryl picks up the green bean and shoves it in his mouth, sucking on it. “Ah, fuck it. I fucking forgot. My goddamn bad. I’m so shittin’ sorry. I ain’t gonna f--”

Shane smacks him in the shoulder and a tense moment spreads out between them in which neither one of them look away. Rick clears his throat and watches as Daryl spins around. He can tell by Daryl’s narrowed eyes and the tense lines of his arms that he’s expecting Rick to back Shane up and Rick wonders just when he became the peace keeper. “Shane says you met at a music concert,” he says instead, diverting both of their attentions. Daryl grunts and nods, picks up his one remaining roll.

“Yep,” Daryl says. “Met over rock. If I knew he was into rap, too, I would have left his ass then and there in the parking lot.”

“Like _country_ is better,” Shane says.

“I only listen to _country_ when I’m with Merle and you listen to rap like you think you’re the next white boy gangster.”

Shane licks his lips and smiles, his teeth blindingly white. “ _Am_ the next white boy gangster.”

“Hmm,” Daryl says, “my bad. Should’ve said _tanning-bed_ gangster.”

Shane scoffs at him and elbows him in the ribs again and Daryl, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. But he doesn’t smile, either. Rick watches the two of them as they talk about their relationship--how they met over the music festival, how they had drinks together, how Daryl has always been out and Shane is still getting used to it, how they’ve had a year and a half together of dates and outings and a life that Rick has not been privy to, even in the minorest of details. Daryl tells them about his background--one brother who gets in the occasional trouble with the law, job as an air conditioner repairman, no parents to really speak of, no formal education.

Rick soaks it all in and thinks about how the words that pour out of Daryl’s mouth should be defining him--how Shane’s poking and prodding of “well, tell them all the shit Merle’s been on,” “but he ain’t got no real daddy," “you didn’t go to college, did you?” should lead Rick to the right and standard conclusions. But they don’t. In fact, the more that Rick learns of him the more that all the stereotypes dissolve into meaningless little whiffs of smoke. Daryl is gay, but he’s not effeminate. He grew up with a bad childhood, but he’s strong. He only has one family member, but they’re tight. He doesn’t have a college degree, but he’s whip smart. There is absolutely no mold to put this man in, no little square peg that can properly house Daryl Dixon. Rick wonders if that’s one of the things that attracts Shane.

They get to a lull in conversation and then Daryl asks a question about Rick. Rick nods and answers it and the tables turn. He talks about growing up with Shane and Shane chimes in and they tell some of their best friendship stories. Rick talks about Lori, too, and she politely joins the conversation, tells Daryl about her yoga classes and her book club. Rick and Lori talk about Carl. Shane talks about the force. Before long, they’re halfway through the meal and Daryl stands, grabbing his glass to go and get a refill.

“Hey, Shorty,” Shane calls and holds up his glass, too. “Coke.”

Daryl scoffs and reaches out with lightning fast reflexes, clocks Shane on the back of the head so hard that Rick watches him grunt and jerk forward. Shane glares up at him, but Daryl swipes the glass. “ _Please_ ,” he says to Shane and trots off.

Rick tries to suppress a smile curling at his lips. Before meeting Daryl, he would have bet a million to one that there was no one on the planet that could teach Shane some manners. Maybe, just maybe, he was wrong about that. He clears his throat, thinking now is the time to really reinforce said manner and stands, holding his hand out for Lori’s cup. “M’lady,” he says with a fake posh accent and she actually _smiles_ at him and hands him her glass, telling him what she had and thanking him.

Rick nods and saunters off to the drink machine that Daryl is currently standing at, his finger hovering over the Coke button. He sees Rick approach and turns to him. “You’re his best friend. Should I pour Diet Dr. Pepper in here just to show him?”

Rick snorts and then licks his lips, casting Daryl the evilest and slyest look he can muster up. “Hates Barqs worse.”

Daryl wrinkles his nose and chuckles and then swipes the cup to the left and presses the button for Barqs, watches it pour into the cub. “I’m a dick, huh?” he says to Rick and Rick just shrugs.

“Shane brings out the dick in all of us.” He refills Lori’s cup and starts on his own. “Hey, um...thanks. For putting up with him.”

Daryl pauses and looks over before nodding slightly. “Sure.”

“I mean, it’s nice to see him with someone who can handle him, you know? Shane’s always been a heartbreaker and he’s not very good at _soft_ things.”

Daryl scoffs. “Yeah, I got that.”

“I want him to be happy. Think he could be with you.”

Daryl smiles. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he says before walking off with his two full glasses. Rick follows slightly behind him and listens to the round of horrible cursing that Shane spews when he tastes the root beer.

***

After the root beer incident and Shane’s angry stomping back over to the drink machine when Daryl bulls up like a mule and refuses to budge one inch to correct the mistake, they turn from conversations about the past to conversations about the future. Lori talks about how she needs to pick a book for next month’s book club and Rick mentions that he and Shane are going to have three days in a row of night shifts later that month because the station is understaffed. Shane talks about whether he should buy a season pass to the Braves or just keep buying per game and Daryl talks about how it’s high season at his job.

Rick watches Daryl from across the table, the smooth movements of his arms, the small little quirks of the muscles around his lips and eyes that tell so much more about his mood than any full blown smile would. He finds Daryl fascinating, this man who has somehow wormed his way up to Shane’s side without Rick even knowing it. This guy who’s smart and funny and has a smile that’s not Shane’s bright and wide beach smile, but speaks of softer things like a small breeze on a fall day. He realizes with a sudden alarming quality that the double date is almost over, that Daryl could very well disappear back into the darkness where he’s been for the last year and a half. That this might be the only chance that Rick will ever get to see him and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thinks they could become _friends_. He thinks it would be nice to know Daryl better, to call him up sometime and mutually bitch about Shane’s jackassery, to come over to Daryl and Shane’s house and watch the game together, to invite each other to barbecues and birthdays and anniversaries.

Daryl must think it’s nice, too, because he quirks his lip up at Rick and gives a little half-shrug. “Nice gettin’ to know Shane’s friends,” he says.

“Yeah,” Rick responds. “It’s been real nice getting to see you. I’ll admit I thought that it was a magical unicorn, the guy that could pin Shane down for longer than two drunken Christmas parties.”

Shane kicks him under the table for the mention of Colleen, but Daryl doesn’t seem to react to that. He just gives a little chuckle and tilts his head. “Should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Rick says. “I would like that. You’re in his life now, might as well be in ours. We should do something.”

Daryl’s eyes sparkle. “You hunt?”

Rick shrugs. “Not since I was a teenager. More into fishing, I guess.”

“Fishing?” Daryl says and gives a hefty sigh that’s clearly sarcastic. “I _guess_ I could do fishing. Free Friday morning. You?”

“Friday?” Rick says without even thinking, without even processing what he’s saying. “Yeah, I’m free.” He grins, thinking happily about how he’s secured a hangout with Daryl and he can explore this new buddy thing. But then, from his right, a cold voice whispers in like ice against a windshield.

“Friday?” Lori says.

Rick blinks at her. “Yeah. I’m off.”

“Friday,” she says again with that tone in her voice, that _last chance, Rick_ waiver to the word.

Rick scours his mind and comes up with nothing. “Yes?” he says.

“Friday,” Lori tells him, leaning slightly back in her chair and to the side, farther away from Rick’s body, “is our _counseling_ session. You know, that little _thing_ we have with Dr. Tanner where we’re trying to make this marriage work. The thing you said you’d clear your schedule for because you were making it a _priority_.”

Rick swallows and feels the tips of his ears red while Lori calls him out in front of the other couple. “Lori,” he says quietly, “I just forgot. Don’t be a drama queen about this. We can talk about it when we get home.”

But that is _exactly_ the wrong thing to say and as the words leave Rick’s mouth, he _knows_ it. Lori stares at him for a minute, her eyes wide and her mouth scrunched in judgement. “A drama queen?” she asks Rick and before Rick can stumble through an apology, she plows over him with the force of a jetliner. “A _drama queen_ ,” she says loudly and stands. “Do you want, _Richard_ , to see a _drama queen_?” Lori grabs her purse and clutches it to her side tight. “Because believe you me, I can be a drama queen. THIS,” she yells for the benefit of those sitting around her, “is me being a _drama queen_. THIS,” she says and holds up her glass of water at Rick,” is me being a _drama queen_.” She tosses the water at Rick and watches satisfactorily as it slashes across his face. “Get over yourself, Rick,” she says in a quieter tone. “Do you even think about us at all? But fine. Go have your little fishing trip. Forget about me trying to make this marriage happen. I hope you have _fun_. I hope it’s worth it.”

She turns to Daryl and Shane, where Daryl is studiously trying to not look and her and Shane looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Shane,” she snaps. “Take me home.”

“Uh,” Shane tries, “Lor, I don’t think--”

“Take me _home_ ,” she says again.

Shane blinks and slides one look over at Daryl. Daryl shakes his head. “It’s fine, man. Take her home. Rick’ll give me a ride, won’t you?”

Rick nods slowly, because it’s all he can see to do right now and then Shane stands and escorts Lori out, her heels clicking angrily against the floor of the restaurant. Rick feels the whole restaurant looking at him as the front door bangs closed and he feels a drip of water slide down his nose to land in his plate. Daryl hides his mouth behind a hand and looks at Rick, watches the water dripping off his face and Rick can see the corners of his eyes crinkle in before he gets the laugh out.

“I’m sorry, man,” Daryl says and clears his throat, putting his hand down. He fights a grin off his face. “It ain’t funny.” But it’s so goddamn _ridiculous_ that Rick has to just laugh about it and so he lets out a chuckle which sets Daryl off and then Daryl stands up and walks around the table, places his hand gingerly on Rick’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you a beer.”

Rick sighs heavily and nods, following Daryl out of the building and leaving the wide eyes of the restaurant patrons behind them.


	4. A Little Midnight Bitching

When Rick steps outside of the restaurant and up to his truck, he pauses. He suddenly realizes that he’s never really hung out with a gay man before, let alone one that’s dating his friend. He quickly scours his mind for what to do now--does he open the door for Daryl? Is that a thing? He’s a guy, so no. But he’s gay, so...Rick does it for all of Lori’s friends, for her sister from Maine that visits them sometimes around Christmas, for his own mother and their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Tupper. But for all of that, Rick just can’t _imagine_ opening the door for Daryl, this gruff outdoorsy kind of guy who sucks gravy off his fingers. But he has to be polite.

Daryl must see his dilemma because he laughs and puts his hand on the door handle of the passenger’s side of the car. “Don’t strain your brain, Officer,” he says and Rick just blushes under the streetlights of the parking lot and clicks the button on his key fob to unlock the car. Daryl slides in easy and Rick opens his own door and climbs in, grabbing a napkin from the middle compartment to wipe his dripping face with. Daryl looks at him, his mouth quirked up. “Maybe we need somethin’ stronger than beer,” he says, giving Rick a once over.

Rick grunts. “I have to drive home. I should probably go back soon anyway.” He frowns. “Console her.”

“Didn’t look so consolable to me,” Daryl says.

Rick shrugs and thinks about Lori, about going home to the clicking of her nails against the table surface while she lectures him, or worse, her cold shouldered indifference. “No,” he says, sighing heavily. “I guess not.” He starts the car. “So where to?”

***

Daryl gives Rick directions to a liquor store on the corner because he’s sure as hell not going to take Rick back to Daryl’s house. Rick isn’t ready for Merle. Hell, no one ever truly is, but the guy looks beat down to the point of auditioning for the new pancake variety at IHOP, so Daryl really isn’t going to throw a cussing, racist, loud-mouthed redneck into the mix. Rick parks in front of the store and Daryl gives him a tiny smile and says he’ll gets something for them. He slides out of the passenger’s side and watches from the corner of his eye as Rick lifts his hand to his nose, pinches the bridge of it.

The little bell above the door dings as Daryl enters and he curves himself toward the beer section, runs his fingers over several bottles and boxes before grabbing a case of Sam Adams because he figures Rick’s that kind of guy. He checks out quickly and tosses the box into the backseat of the SUV before crawling in again. “Takin’ you somewhere,” he says as he clicks his seatbelt at Rick’s insistence. “Go past the city limits out to farm road 13 and make a right.”

Rick chuckles. “Is this the start of a bad horror movie?”

Daryl grins. “Only if you like it. But seriously. Drive.”

Rick nods and pulls the car out onto the highway, gunning it to the edge of town. Daryl watches him--the way his palm slides over the top of the steering wheel, the little curls at the edge of his ears that are damp with Golden Corral water. Daryl’s not an idiot. He knows full damn well that Rick is his _type_ , complete with adorable smile, a little too skinny of a figure, piercing and artfully blue eyes, and even a healthy dash of authority. Shane was something that Daryl had stumbled into, something that he’d met along the way and been too drunk to stop fucking and now that they’re actually together, Daryl likes him--likes to put his mouth on Shane’s heavy biceps, likes to feel the ridges of his abs, likes to make fun of his adorably unflattering ears. But Shane has never been and will never be the kind of guy that Daryl normally swoons over--the kind of guys that have a little bit of crazy to their wide and open eyes, a little too much of a stance in their squared shoulders. The kind of guys Daryl wants to take out into the middle of the woods and then get drunk with and maybe even feed a damn ass sandwich to. Daryl realizes just slightly that he’s fucked.

Rick turns onto farm road 13 and Daryl directs him down two miles to a little sign that says “boat dock” and a pothole laced concrete slab that ends in a rush at open water. Daryl grins and slips out of the car, grabbing the Sam Adams and hopping the metal chain stretching across the concrete with the sign “CLOSED” displayed in large letters. He beckons to Rick, who’s still in the SUV, the low headlights blinding Daryl from seeing his face. Eventually, Rick shuts off the car and the darkness seeps in, surrounding the river and the road in the quietness of nature.

Rick steps out and slams his door shut, turning to Daryl. Daryl can’t see the features of his face, but he watches Rick walk toward him, tilting his head at the river. Daryl smiles. “Gonna turn me in, officer? Or gonna come have a good time?”

Rick chuckles and Daryl is eased by the sound, low and intimate. He has a brief thought that Shane should really be watching him closer, but it’s followed up by his conscience coming to bear that 1) Shane doesn’t deserve that, 2) Rick is Shane’s friend, 3) Rick is married, and 4) Daryl’s not a douche canoe.

Rick walks toward the chain and lifts one foot over it, his left arm shooting out for balance. Daryl reacts on instinct and grabs it, wonders in the back of his mind just why he’s so touchy with this guy when it normally takes him months to get that comfortable with someone. Daryl helps Rick step over the chain and then they settle next to each other, Daryl slipping his shoes and socks off and dipping his feet into the water.

“Come here often?” Rick asks, staring at the stars above them.

Daryl chuckles and hands Rick a beer can. “Use bad pickup lines to start all your conversations?”

Rick dips his head in laughter and Daryl wonders if he would be blushing if there was light to see by. “No, I just meant...is this one of your places?”

Daryl shrugs and pops the tab on his can. “Yeah, I guess so. Me and Merle have a little boat we bring here sometimes in the summer. Though I’m not sure I’m going to let him drag me out on it this year since last time we did he spent the whole time tannin’ and got a ridiculously horrible burn on his ass that he wanted me to doctor.” Daryl laughs to himself. “But I like nature. So come here, yeah. Parks and things, too. Like the woods. Mostly into crossbow hunting.”

“Bring Shane here sometimes?” Rick asks.

Daryl shakes his head. “Nah. Shane’s more interested in fucking than sitting around. And besides, pretty much anything public is off the table. Double dates with his friends excluded, I guess.”

Rick nods solemnly. “Yeah. He’s, um...having a hard time with it, I guess.”

Daryl shrugs and tries not to let the frown on his face seep down into the pit of his stomach. “Yeah. Um...he is. I...I’ve been out for awhile. Used to it. Shane...he ain’t never been with a guy before me. So he’s still stuck hiding.”

Rick looks at him. “Sorry he does that to you.”

Daryl stares for a minute and then makes a noncommittal grunt. “Sorry your wife threw water in your face.”

Rick laughs. “Yeah, me too.” He sighs and takes a swig of his drink. “What a bitch.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say that. I love her. I’m trying to make things work. I just get frustrated sometimes.”

Daryl shakes his head. “Nah, I get it. Don’t matter how much you care about them, sometimes you just gotta yell it out.” He smiles and turns to the river, gathers his voice and propels it out across the water. “SHANE WALSH IS A MONKEY FUCKER.” He laughs. “There. Your turn.”

Daryl is pretty sure Rick really is blushing now, with the way he’s ducking his head and shaking it. “No,” he says, “I couldn’t.”

Daryl nudges him in the elbow with the hand that’s holding the beer. “Come on. Tell the river ‘my wife is a bitch.’”

Rick bites his lip and then lifts his head and says, “My wife is a bitch.”

Daryl laughs. “Nah, gotta do better. Make the world _believe_ it. Come on. Want me to go again? I can talk about how nasty his balls are.”

Rick smiles. “My wife is a bitch,” he says louder and Daryl gives him another shove. “MY WIFE IS A BITCH!” He finally yells and then breaks out into full on laughter. Daryl joins him and takes a drink of his beer, watching Rick’s profile in the moonlight and trying desperately not to think about timing.

Rick leans his head down, pointed toward his knees, and his laughing trails off into a slight chuckle until it’s absorbed into silence by the night air. Rick shakes his head and takes a long swig of his can. “Wish I had what you have,” he says, quiet and slow like if he says it too loud, Daryl might chastise him for it or worse. That it might come true.

“What I have?” Daryl asks.

Rick shrugs. “You and Shane. You seem...nice together. Saw you when I walked in the restaurant. You seemed like you cared for one another. Lori and I...most of the time I don’t think she even likes me, let alone loves me and I can’t say it to her either, so I guess we’re just fools that are just too stubborn enough to back down.”

Daryl sits his can to the side of him and asks, “Was it always like that?”

Rick shakes his head. “No. We...we were high school sweethearts. ‘There’s your problem right there’, my dad told me. People you date in high school are never ‘the one.’ But I thought she was. I mean, she _was_. We were perfect for each other back then. She wanted a guy to protect her and to do all of those, you know, traditional man things. And I just thought she was so pretty and smart and, hell, even funny back then, who can remember. So I did those things for her. But now...now it’s like she tells me to do things and then she hates me for doing them. Half the time I think she’s just _baiting_ me. She’ll tell me she wants to be a stay at home mom and I tell her that we would make it work--dammit, I’d be proud of her--if she wanted to have a career. But she says no. No, she wants to just raise Carl. So I say that sounds lovely. And then she hates me for it. Makes all these backhanded comments about how she doesn’t have anything but a home that’s falling apart like it’s _my_ fault. Like I was supposed to force her into applying to some job she didn’t even want so that later down the line she could be happy about it.” Rick shakes his head and finishes his can, accepts Daryl’s offer of a second one. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be complaining.”

Daryl shrugs. “It’s fine. Sometimes you need to.”

Rick sighs and looks out over the water, thinks for a minute, and then starts kicking off his boots. He pulls off his socks and dips his feet into the water next to Daryl’s. “I can’t talk to her about this. That’s what she says all the time. SPEAK. TALK. Tell me what your thoughts are, Rick. Tell me what your feelings are. Why don’t you ever _say_. Why don’t you ever _ask_. But what am I supposed to do? Tell her that half the time I want to hold her and tell her it’s just a rough patch, that we’re the end game of our own romantic story and the other half I want to spit in her face and tell her I don’t love her anymore? What kind of a life is that? What kind of a speech is that? And Shane...fuck, he tells me, too. Asks me all the goddamn time. How are things with Lori? Fucking awful, that’s how they are. And they aren’t changing and I don’t want to _talk about it_. I don’t want to _talk through it_ with a damn ass therapist or my best friend. Sometimes, I just want to be _mad_. I just want to feel sorry for myself that I’m just another statistic and all my boy has is a couple of broken teenagers that never grew up for parents.”

Daryl grunts and looks over at Rick, hunched over himself and nursing his beer. In the low light, he seems small, vulnerable, and somehow enticing, a gravity well putting pressure on Daryl’s right side and dragging him in. Daryl kicks his feet in the water. “River’s good for that,” he says, “yelling and being sad.”

Rick snorts. “You use it sometimes?”

Daryl is silent for a long while, staring at the blackness of the water before them. “Shane is ashamed of me.” He shakes his head. “Don’t say any of that bullshit that everyone else tries to explain it away as. He is. We go out and he pretends we’re just friends. We go to clubs and he avoids me. I’m not a fucking hand holder or a ‘let’s make out on the steps of the courthouse’ kind of bastard, but the asshole will barely talk to me sometimes. You know, all I want is for him to show up at work with a fucking roast beef sandwich, you know? I don’t want anything big.” Daryl sighs and pulls his feet out of the water and toward him. “We have sex--great _phenomenal_ sex--and afterwards he makes these snide little fucking _bullying_ statements about my job or my house or the way I look like I’m just some redneck scum with a good ass that he picked up on the side of the road and is going to dump later. I think he wants to, sometimes. Wants to push me the hell away and see me just walking in the distance. Fuck, sometimes I know he does chicks. In December, it was Colleen. May, it was Janice. He thinks I don’t know, but whatever. I just let him get it out of his system because he always comes back to me. Always _apologizes_ for being gone too long, for being too mean or hostile. That’s what we do. Fight, break-up, get back together, are good for awhile. Then fight.” Daryl chews the inside of his lip for a minute and then shrugs. “Ain’t just you. It’s all couples. There’s no such thing as a fairytale ending. No one is ‘the one.’ The one is just a person you try to make it work with until you just can’t anymore and some people, hell, they’re stubborn-ass bitches and they take their husbands and wives to their graves with them. Most of us, though, got damn shorter fuses.”

“You really believe that?” Rick asks him, his eyes bright in the Georgia night. “That there’s no such thing as soul mates or happy endings or, hell, compatibility?”

Daryl snorts. “Ain’t met anyone yet that I fell in love with at first sight.”

Rick blinks and then stares out over the water, rubs his hand over his jawline. “Fuck, I need a drink,” he says and Daryl laughs, hands him over another beer despite the fact that Rick still has a half-full can. Rick looks at him and busts out in laughter, too, and as their fingers brush over the beer, Daryl fights down a little flutter of light that’s sparking somewhere deep within him.

***

When Rick stands up to leave for the night, he kicks over three separate beer cans and trips over a fourth and that’s right about the time that Daryl realizes he’s totally going to have to drive his new sloshed friend home. He stands himself and allows Rick to use him as a balancing tool and when Rick’s eyes lock with his--albeit a little cross-eyed--Daryl can’t help but smile with a warm little cozy feeling of intimacy that he’s only ever had with Merle and the three long-term boyfriends over his life.

Daryl is suddenly very, very glad that he only had one beer to drink.

Rick hands over his keys easily and although it takes some stumbling maneuvers to pull Rick past the closed sign, Daryl gets him into the passenger’s seat with little incident. He throws the cans into the box they came in and piles it in the back, thinking he’ll find a recycling bin later somewhere and then begins the long, arduous “RICK! Let’s focus here” process of trying to figure out just where the fuck Rick’s house even _is_.

Rick directs him through traffic with wobbly finger pointing and a good bit of slurred “bur” for “birch street” and “may” for main. After about ten minutes, they arrive at their final destination only for Daryl to find that his Rick GPS has led him straight to the police station and not at all anywhere near Rick’s supposed house.

Daryl huffs and is just about to give up and call Shane when Rick seems to have a wild shriek of inspiration and launches forward, pressing a button on the _real_ GPS with way too much force. A mechanical voice sounds through the car-- “Destination: Home. In one hundred feet, turn right.” Daryl rolls his eyes at his own stupidity for not thinking of it first, but follows the voice until they arrive in a posh neighborhood that sits up on a hill overlooking the town.

Daryl parks where the car directs him to, in front of a nice light-gray house with brick steps and an overall “chic traditional” style. He shakes Rick’s shoulder to wake him up from where he started dozing on the drive and together they pour Rick out of the car and up the steps. Daryl finds the key to the house after not too much searching and is incredibly thankful that Lori isn’t up and waiting for Rick, but soundly in bed.

Rick stumbles through a doorway to the right of the entranceway and collapses onto a couch and Daryl pads softly after him. Rick grabs a throw pillow and tucks it under his head, then pulls down a blanket off of the back of the couch and manages to drape it half over himself. Daryl watches as half of Rick burrows into the blanket and the other half shivers and he rolls his eyes before stepping forward to tuck Rick in.

Rick blinks up at him, drunk and sleepy and dopey, and reaches forward to grab Daryl’s wrist as Daryl finishes pulling the blanket up around Rick’s shoulders. “Thank you,” Rick says, Sam Adams on his breath and sincerity in his eyes.

“For what?” Daryl asks, thinking he should really remove his hand from under Rick’s grip.

Rick looks away for just a split second before returning his gaze to Daryl. “For listening to me.”

Daryl smiles down at him and licks his lips to give his tongue something to do other than say things he shouldn’t. “No problem,” he says and gently detangles Rick’s hand, giving it a solid pat before heading back out the door.

***

Daryl calls Shane and even though Shane _bitches_ up and down about how it’s 2:53 and he was damn well _asleep_ , he still drives to get Daryl under the promise of a face-fuck and true to form, when Shane takes Daryl back to his apartment, Daryl lets him have at it all rough and wanting and he even swallows when Shane comes and doesn’t even bitch when Shane practically falls asleep afterwards.

Daryl lays under the cool sheets of Shane’s bed and lets the taste of Shane and the utter _Walshness_ of the apartment burn Rick out of his brain and he lets himself think--lets it seep into his brain--that Rick probably is right. That Daryl should be happy with what he has because it’s more than Rick does. At least Daryl has someone to go home to, to sleep in the same bed with. Someone who gives him the greatest fucks of his life. Someone that buys him roses when he apologizes. Someone that has some damn good friends that he’s introduced into Daryl’s life and that maybe, just maybe, are starting to become Daryl’s friends, too.


	5. New Neighbors and Friends

Rick wakes to the loud, aggressive sound of a mixer. He blinks and then groans loudly as the whirling blades of whatever Lori is doing in the kitchen bore into his brain and explode into little bitty pinpoints of light and pain. His stomach drops instantly when he turns his head into the couch and he is so incredibly thankful that he has the day off and that Carl is spending the next few days with his doting grandparents.

After a moment of feeling incredibly sorry for himself and trying to reconcile whether Daryl leaning over him, tucking him in and giving him a kind of soft and just-for-Rick smile is actually memory or dream, Rick stands up and wanders into the kitchen. He braces his hand on the doorway so that the room and his stomach both stop acting like Rick is currently on one of those log balancing contests and looks at Lori. She’s holding a yellow mixing bowl with one hand, her knuckles white as she grips it, and with the other, she’s swirling the beaters around in the bowl, beating whatever she feels like she needs to beat into submission.

Rick squints one eye to see her better. “‘orning,” he says, his voice gravelly.

Lori looks up at him like she hadn’t expected to see him there and grunts in a perfect ladylike fashion before hitting the mixer up to high to drown out Rick’s voice. Rick waits patiently until she’s done with the mixer and slams it down on the counter before he says, “Whatcha doing?”

“Baking,” Lori says, the word clipped and quick.

“Why?”

“Because,” Lori says and picks up an egg, cracks it into the bowl with too much force.

“Lori, I--” Rick starts, but Lori snatches the mixer up and goes back to it and Rick figures that it’s probably way more productive to go and take a shower and brush the beer off his tongue than it is to try and get an actual conversation out of her.

***

When Rick steps out of the shower, he’s feeling much more refreshed and actually kind of with it. His stomach has moved from protesting anything at all solid to growling for food and so he heads back into the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal. He gives a weak little smile at Lori and she doesn’t seem quite so burningly frigid as she did earlier. She pulls out a pie from the center rack of the oven to check it and then slides it back in for more cooking.

“For dinner?” Rick asks.

Lori slides her eyes over to him and shakes her head. “Neighbor,” she says and while it’s still just one word, she doesn’t spit it out like she thinks it’s poison.

“Neighbor?” Rick asks, trying to draw her out. “Any special occasion?”

Lori bores her gaze into him and Rick knows that she knows exactly what he’s doing. “ _New_ neighbor,” Lori says, conceding. “Mr. Douglas. Moved in this morning.” She waves to the open windows and Rick cranes his neck to see a dark-skinned man unloading a U-haul down the street. “Theodore, I think is his first name. He’s almost done with the boxes.”

“Hmm,” Rick said. “Didn’t even know the house sold.”

Lori shrugs. “He’s moved from Atlanta. I don’t think he has family or anything. I believe it’s just him. Martha said he’s got a job at AT&T. Something about cell towers.”

“And how many times did Martha hit him up for a discount?” Rick asks and slides a chuckle from his throat awkwardly, glancing up at Lori to see if it’s appropriate.

She quirks one side of her mouth up in response. “Twice, I think,” she says and sighs, leaning her back against the counter. “What time did you come home?”

Rick freezes and tries to quickly relax all of his muscles so Lori won’t see it. He doesn’t want to tell her he was out drinking until three a.m. because he’s sure that would end in a lecture about adult responsibilities, so he lies easily, “I don’t know. Midnight?”

Lori hmms and gives him an up-and-down look. “And what did you gentlemen do? Not go to a bar and look at floozies, I hope.”

Rick grunts. “Think Daryl and I are into a totally different type of floozy.” Anger flashes in Lori’s eyes, so Rick quickly continues. “I mean, we didn’t. Just hung out for a bit. Guy stuff. He’s pretty cool.”

Lori shrugs. “He seems fine.” The timer dings, so Lori walks over to the oven and checks the pie. “Looks done,” she tells Rick. “I’m going to go give it to him.” She slides her gaze over to Rick. “...if you want one...for dinner…” She clears her throat. “I’ll make another if you go to the store and get me more peaches.”

Rick smiles and takes it for the white-flag apology that it is. He goes into the bedroom and dresses in something more appropriate than his sweat pants and when he and Lori reach the door at the same time, Rick opens it for her and watches as she smiles and slides out, heading down the street for Theodore’s. Rick steps up to his car and puts his hand on the handle, but he continues to observe as Lori approaches the man and shakes his hand, gives her beautiful Southern Belle smile and hands over the pie with a little laugh. She and the new neighbor begin to talk and Rick hums to himself, thinking it feels almost normal.

***  
Daryl hates his life. Six in the morning is an awful shitty time to have work start, especially considering he didn’t get to Shane’s until three thirty and wasn’t asleep until at least four, which meant that he only had gotten about an hour of sleep before waking up and taking the quickest shower of his life, grabbing the extra set of clothes he left at Shane’s for times like this, and skidding out the door with a stolen poptart in his mouth and Shane’s borrowed keys in his hand.

Luckily, though, the shift isn’t a full one and gets over by noon, so Daryl only has to suffer through six hours of broken air conditioners and sticky Georgia heat, which both thankfully distract him from winter blue eyes and the way that Rick’s fingers had felt on the pulse point of his wrist. Daryl tells the Fisher’s air conditioner that he’s fucked and Mrs. Fisher hears the expletive, but laughs heartily and asks if she just needs to buy a new one.

The day flies by quickly, though, and Daryl has never been more grateful for the busy season. He manages to slide out of work by 12:15 and he guns it for Shane’s house after texting Merle to bring his truck so he can _finally_ be in his own damn vehicle. Halfway back, though, he pauses at the intersection of Pine and Wallaby and looks to his right at the road that slopes upward to a now-familiar subdivision at the top of a hill. He grunts to himself. He and Rick didn’t actually make firm _plans_ for fishing and he knows that he should 100%, completely let it go. Avoid Rick. That’s probably the best strategy. But Daryl is a strong guy. He can resist temptation. And besides, talking with Rick last night...it was the first time in a long time Daryl had felt like he really had a _friend_ and he didn’t want to miss out on that kind of opportunity. Besides, Daryl tells himself, Rick is straight. So nothing will happen, ever, even _if_ he and Shane were to truly break up one day. So what’s the harm in making a friend? What’s the big deal about going fishing?

Behind him, a blue Ford Focus honks its horn in three quick successions and Daryl snaps his eyes back to the green light in front of him. He cusses and flips on his blinker with an angry jab of a hand movement and turns up the hill.

***

Daryl knocks on the door to the gray house and waits with his hands in his pocket, holding his breath for a set of crystal blue eyes. But when the door opens, he’s not met with blue like the landscape of a clear sunny day, but instead the warm green-speckled brown of Lori. “...hey,” Daryl says.

Lori quirks her mouth up in not quite a smile. “Daryl. Hello. Can I help you?”

Daryl shifts his feet. “Uh...wonderin’ if Rick was in.”

Lori tilts her head and then shakes it. “No, he went to the store. But he should be back any minute if you’d like to wait.”

Daryl glances awkwardly into the house and then shifts himself so that he’s half toward Lori and half toward the driveway. “Nah. I’ll just catch him later.”

Lori smiles at him. “I’ve just made fresh squeezed lemonade.” Daryl bites the inside of his lip. “And I have some leftover casserole from lunch.”

Daryl blinks. “Guess it couldn’t hurt?”

Lori steps back and opens the door for him. “Come on inside. I’ll get it for you.”

Daryl walks into the pristinely organized house, noting the extreme contrast between the darkness of last night and the afternoon with the shutters blown open. Lori walks to the fridge and grabs out a casserole dish covered in saran wrap and pulls one plate and a fork out of the cabinet. Daryl notes the sink void of dishes, the table void of dust, and the couch without one stain or one hair sitting on it. He wonders if Lori is normally a cleaning freak or if she’s just one of those “clean when you’re angry” types.

“I don’t need anything,” Daryl tries to protest, but Lori smiles at him and it doesn’t look nearly as plastic as last night.

“Nonsense. Your eyes lit up when I mentioned food. Haven’t had lunch yet?”

Daryl grunts. “Just came from work.”

Lori nods. “See? Sit down. I’ll heat this up for you.” Daryl looks around and finds a bar stool slid up against the island in the middle of the kitchen. He perches awkwardly and watches while Lori dishes food onto a plate and pops it into the microwave, then walks to the sink and grabs a glass from the cabinet above, pours lemonade from the fridge.

When the microwave dings, she takes out the plate and pops both the dish and the glass in front of Daryl. “There you go.” She grabs a stool and places it on the other side of the island, sitting across from him. “So what did you have to talk to Rick about?”

Daryl grunts and starts to slowly eat, trying to remind himself of table manners and not just slurp the rice and chicken up. “Uh...was gonna ask him about fishin’. I mean...we never really came up with alternative plans. Wanted to reschedule for not Friday.”

Lori smiles. “Well, thank you. It’s really Rick who should be rescheduling and watching his calendar in the _first_ place, but thanks for being thoughtful. I think we got off on the wrong foot last night. I’m sorry I was such…” Lori shrugs and sighs. “Such a bitch, I guess. Rick does that to me sometimes.”

Daryl shrugs. “I get it. Shane does it to me, too, I guess. Ain’t nearly as loud and rowdy when he’s not there. And I wear nicer clothes.” He pauses. “Um...sorry. For cussing and shit.” He grimaces and twirls the fork in his hand awkwardly. “...sorry.”

Lori laughs, throwing her head back just slightly, her eyes sparkling. “It’s fine.” She shakes her head. “Let you in on a secret,” she says, leaning forward, her brown hair cascading from her shoulders. “I don’t give a fuck.” She puts her hand up to rest her chin in her palm and shrugs. “Rick and Shane think I’m a _lady_ and I can’t handle it. And I am a lady. But that doesn’t mean a lady can’t understand a little _expression_ now and then.”

Daryl quirks his mouth up. “You don’t give a fuck, huh?”

“Don’t fucking care,” Lori tells him.

Daryl pushes around a piece of chicken and then starts eating with more gusto. “Guess you’re not as bad as Rick and Shane make you out to be.”

Lori scoffs. “Yeah and I’d like to be a fly on the wall listening to what they’re saying about me. And I’m sure they’d like to know what _I’m_ saying about _them_.”

Daryl downs half the glass of lemonade and just shrugs. “Probably a little bit of truth in all of it.”

Lori stares at him and crosses her arms, a ghost of a smile sitting on her lips. “How’d you get with Shane? Honestly.”

Daryl looks around for an escape route and doesn’t see one. He shrugs just slightly. “Um...the truth?”

Lori nods.

Daryl coughs and fights down a blush. “Drunk fuck and we never really stopped.” He looks up at her from under his eyelashes and waits for a response and when she busts out a laugh, he instantly relaxes.

She turns back to the fridge and grabs the lemonade, refills his cup. “You know, I like you, Daryl Dixon. I don’t usually get along with Rick’s friends. It’s nice for a change.”

Daryl smiles. “Eh, you’re just looking for a gay friend, I’m sure.”

Lori laughs. “Never had one. Maybe I’m just curious.”

“Well, I ain’t good at interior design and I don’t wear big-rimmed glasses, so you can get that out of your head right now.”

Lori bites her lip, a sparkle in her eyes. “What about hotpants?”

Daryl scoffs. “Stop,” he says, fighting back a smile.

***

Rick pulls into the driveway beside Shane’s car and furrows his brow at why his friend would be here, but doesn’t give it much thought. He picks up the two grocery bags full of peaches and a couple of Lori’s favorites, notably peanut brittle and orange soda, as apologies and heads into the house. As he rounds the corner, he sees Daryl sitting on _his_ barstool in _his_ kitchen and his heart does a little floppy thing that Rick thinks must be a leftover symptom of his hangover.

Rick’s face breaks out into a wide grin and he makes a mental note to later google if there is an accepted term that people use for a friend crush because this guy is cool as hell and Rick wants it. Rick watches in awe as Daryl sees him and then widens his eyes, a blush on his cheeks. “Lori’s in the bathroom,” Daryl says quickly. “I didn’t just break into your house and start eating your casserole.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Of course you didn’t,” he says and walks forward, setting the bags on the counter. “Um...how are you?”

Daryl shrugs and hunkers down over his plate that’s mostly empty. “Good. What about you? You were the one that had it worse last night.”

“Sssshh,” Rick says and makes a courtesy glance down the hallway. “Not telling Lori. She’d kill me. But fine. Why’d you come over? Not that you can’t. I mean, I like it. I’m happy that my friends come over. I mean, if we’re friends. Sorry, I’m babbling.”

Daryl smiles at him and spoons the last of the casserole into his mouth. “Came to ask if you want to go fishing.”

Rick blinks. “Kind of figured that idea was shot out of the water.”

Daryl shrugs and avoids his eyes. “For Friday, yeah. I mean...I’m open on Saturday. But I get it if you got plans--”

“Saturday’s good,” Rick says quickly. “Awesome in fact. Meet early?”

Daryl looks up at him and nods. “Yeah!” He clears his throat. “Yeah. Five sound good? Your place?”

“Perfect,” Rick says with a beaming smile.

“Yeah,” Daryl says, his voice kind of soft. “Perfect.” Daryl shakes his head with a fierce blush and then hops off the barstool quickly. “Um...gotta go. Get Shane’s car back to him.” Daryl pauses for a second. “Okay,” he says and then he’s thundering through the house to the doorway, calling, “Tell Lori I said bye,” and leaving with only a loud thump of the front door. Rick stares after him in awe, wondering how Daryl got to be such a weird person and simultaneously not caring one little bit.

***

Daryl pulls into Shane’s driveway an hour and nine minutes after he really should have been there, parking Shane’s car right next to Daryl’s own truck. He hops out of the driver’s seat and makes his way to the front door, wondering just what in the hell Shane and Merle have been doing while they wait, until he opens the door and finds out firsthand just what kind of entertainment they’re up to.

“Yeah,” Merle is saying, staring at the TV in front of the couch. “Told ya this had titty shots.”

Shane grunts, a wide and appreciative smile aimed toward the screen and Daryl arches one eyebrow and swings the door open wider to step in. Shane spots him and yells “SHIT!” loudly into the room and scrambles for the remote, comically fumbling with it and dropping it, before grabbing it solidly and smashing the power button three times. “HEY, BABY!” Shane says loudly, a bright smile on his face. “What kept you? Merle and I were just watching _Whose Line is it_ \--”

“Ain’t fucking _Whose Line_ ,” Merle says. “Was--” And then gets a loud smack on the back of his head for his trouble. Shane runs his fingers through his own bushy hair.

Daryl snorts. “Shane, I don’t care if you’re looking at honkers.”

“See?” Merle says, waving his arm and then tries to wrestle the remote from Shane, who has a death grip on it.

Shane beams at him, his smile contrasting with his wide-eyes. “Wasn’t looking at anything but you, Shorty,” he says.

Daryl rolls his eyes and shuts the door to the house firmly. “Got my truck back so I can get out of your hair. Come on, Merle.”

Merle groans unhappily and stands up, glaring down at Shane. “Kill joy,” he says and makes his way to the door and out to the truck.

Daryl turns to go back out again, but before he can make it, Shane is up and grabbing his wrist. “Hey, darlin’,” he says and leans forward, kisses Daryl’s jawline right by his ear. “Was thinking we could go out tonight. What do you say? Catch a good gun-slinging movie, throw popcorn at each other like chicks?”

Daryl chuckles despite himself and nods as Shane starts fingering the chain of the necklace resting on Daryl’s collarbone. “Would like that,” he says. “Need something fun after Rick and Lori. Buzzkills, man.”

Shane snorts. “Coulda told you that. Wetter than blankets at the bottom of a lake, huh? But you and me…” Shane turns Daryl so that he can wrap his arms around Daryl’s waist. “We’re the fucking fun patrol. So let’s go have ourselves a date, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, smiling and when Shane leans forward to kiss him, Daryl meets his mouth and lets Shane do all those good kind of hard angles and love bites. He loses himself in Shane’s wide hands along his hips, the rough edges of his teeth as they scrape against Daryl’s lip, the hard planes of Shane’s chest against his own. Daryl doesn’t need anything else but this, he tells himself. This is his truth, his partner, _the one_. People like Rick are nothing but superficial fluff, a pipe dream, a fantasy. And Daryl has always bent to the cold, hard concreteness of reality.


	6. Dr. Tanner's Rather Complex Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today, but hang on, guys! Tomorrow is the fishing scene. ;)

Rick treats Friday mornings with the same kind of enthusiasm he would deal with a colonoscopy--it’s incredibly uncomfortable, invasive, and while he intellectually understands why it has to be done, it still makes his inner child cry and run screaming for the hills.

As always, Lori gets up early to preen and makes sure to wear her nicest clothes and her most tasteful makeup. Rick had asked her about it once in a session and had gotten rewarded with his head bitten off about how if they _must_ be going through this process, she was going to be damned if they didn’t look like the perfect couple while they were in the waiting room. Rick had shut up about it after that because he didn’t think he could take another two hour long session devoted to _how does it make Rick feel that Lori wants him to be presentable._

Rick dresses nicely, as well, since he has to at least try and make an effort, but he’s still ready far before Lori is and so he takes the opportunity to call over to his mom’s house to check on Carl. It seems that Carl has found a group of friends that are all baseball players and has taken up being their star pitcher and Rick listens with enthusiasm to Carl’s ongoing spiel regarding how the last game was tied twenty to twenty until Carl managed to pitch a no-hitter inning and he is ecstatic beyond belief. He makes Rick promise to continue to help him hone his pitcher skills and is now talking about signing up for softball, despite the fact that Rick has been trying for years to get him to.

Rick smiles into the phone and when Lori finally walks from the bathroom, he hands the receiver over so that Lori can talk to Carl for a few precious minutes. And then, perfectly on schedule, they head to the car. Rick slips into the driver’s seat and cranks the engine and Lori climbs into the passenger’s seat, looking stiff and uncomfortable. Her lips are a thin, narrow line and her eyes are wide and observant. “We’ll have a good session,” she tells him and nods to herself before turning to set her purse in the backseat.

As she turns, she pauses and Rick watches her blink, sees her eyes get wider, her lips get narrower. Rick frowns and opens his mouth to ask her what the matter is, but before he can get out the sentence, she’s grabbed something from the backseat and is holding it up to Rick. Rick swallows at the sight of the empty Sam Adams can.

“Rick,” she asks, honey sweet and smooth. “What’s this?”

Rick blushes and swallows. “Nothing,” he says. “Daryl must have left it in the car.”

Lori leans back slightly. “Daryl. Left _empty cans_ in our car.” Rick tries to think of a quick explanation, but can’t find any. It doesn’t seem to matter too much, though, as Lori plows ahead for him. “Midnight my ass,” she mutters to herself. “Hanging out. _Guy stuff_. Jesus, Rick, I cannot even with you. I just _cannot even_.”

“Lori--”

“Save it,” Lori snaps out. “I guess this won’t be a _quick session_.”

Rick stays still with his hands on the steering wheel and the car in reverse, but his foot on the brake. Lori crosses her arms, purses her lips, and waits until Rick is too tired to even try. He backs out of the driveway and spins the car toward the little building dotting the circle drive of the medical cul de sac. When he steps out, Lori gives him no time to open her door for her, instead slamming herself out of the seat and practically kicking in the thin glass door of the building in her temper. Rick follows her at a safe pace and when they’re inside, he sits down with a chair between them despite how he knows that she hates that and wants to keep up appearances.

Rick can’t help but think that he’d much rather be drinking the rest of the Sam Adams with Daryl right now.

***

Dr. Tanner is a tall, thin stick of a man with a buzzcut that’s just starting to go gray and eyes that are warm and kindly crinkled around his eyes. He always wears a nice suit, crisp and clean and ironed, but his shoes are almost always scuffed like they’ve been lovingly worn down and are getting close to the brink of no return. He has a watch on his wrist that looks more expensive than anything that Rick would ever wear, but he never looks at it--or if he does, Rick doesn’t notice. He’s not the kind of guy to take notes, but he does record in a very nonchalant and subtle fashion, pressing the button on entering and exiting in such a smooth and easy way that Rick would never notice it if not for the consent form.

There’s a couch to sit on, but also two wooden chairs and a large place to pace, too, that Lori uses sometimes. The place is filled with simple things--nice and neat bookshelves, a desk without clutter that has a zen garden at its corner, and real, honest to god plants that Dr. Tanner lets Lori water sometimes when she is especially upset. There are no photos of family or friends--when asked once, Dr. Tanner told Rick that pictures encourage comparison and comparison with other families will more than likely get you in trouble. So instead there are abstract paintings of yellows and blues scattered about that brighten the room and give it a nice, cheery feel.

Rick and Lori always sit on the couch. They never touch.

This morning, Dr. Tanner walks in with a bright smile on his face and sits across from them as always, leaning his elbows on his knees and clasping his fingers together. “Bright morning!” he says. “Lovely weather. Nice and warm out.” He nods at them and they smile back, accepting that he never asks the normal _how are you, how is your day, how are things_. “Shall we begin?” he asks and they both nod. “Alright. So...why are we here?”

Lori straightens her back and crosses her legs. She lifts her chin up and says with confidence. “To repair our marriage.”

Dr. Tanner nods and turns to Rick. Rick searches in his brain for all those phrases that he so frequently uses for that question, for Dr. Tanner’s insistence that they begin each session with a reminder of why they’re here. He thinks about saying _to make it work, to make Lori happy_ or _for Carl, for my family_.

But then he thinks about Daryl on the boat dock, talking about soulmates and destiny. _The one_. He wonders if Lori is the one anymore or if he’s just lost all of that. If he’s incapable of any kind of human connection. He connected to Daryl, though. He felt it, something warm and soft glowing within his chest, some kind of real _he’s listening to me_ , some kind of true _I could have a friend in this world_. He could do that with a random stranger, _connect_ , but he can’t do it with his wife. He’s incapable of it, of authentic romantic attachment.

He swallows hard and nods to give himself courage. “To connect again,” he says and Dr. Tanner’s eyes brighten and he does that little ghost-of-a-smile thing which lets Rick know that he did _well_ and Lori just blinks at him rapidly, because he’s never said that before and he guesses that it might sound true coming from his mouth because it feels true. He wonders what it would be like if it had been Lori on that boat dock. He wonders if they’ve ever had that--no, he knows they have. It’s just been so long that he’s forgotten.

Dr. Tanner smiles. “Good. Then let’s do that. Let’s find a way to connect. I believe that Rick started last time, so Lori? Do you want to talk about how the last week has gone and how you feel like you’ve been handling the situation, for better or worse?”

Lori nods and launches into it--talks about how she’s been cold and distant and she knows she has. She talks about feeling like she’s irritated all the time and about how sometimes the simplest things that Rick does sets her off. She mentions again that she just wants honesty from him and true to form, she brings up the drinking and how Rick hid it from her and how she wouldn’t be mad that he had done that if he hadn’t lied about it. Rick tightens his hand on his knee and doesn’t call her out on it, despite the fact that he knows it’s a blatant lie.

She talks about the double date, about Daryl, and about over-reacting to the situation when Rick was setting up his fishing outing. She talks about what she did right, what she did wrong, how to improve, and how to acknowledge her feelings, all perfectly boxed and wrapped answers that Dr. Tanner nods along with. And then, quicker than he wants it to be, it’s Rick’s turn.

Rick takes awhile before speaking and when he does start talking, he starts with Daryl. He says the double date went well and he apologizes to Lori for the fishing thing. He talks about how he shouldn’t have gone drinking despite the fact that he feels that Daryl is the only good thing in the last week. He talks about how he shouldn’t have lied, as well, even if it was what Lori wanted to hear and about how he should try to be more aware of her feelings. Dr. Tanner asks him about his _own_ feelings and Rick says that what he feels is tied up in how Lori feels. Lori launches into a speech about Rick’s real thoughts and Rick tries to go deeper into what he’s really thinking without offending her.

Dr. Tanner asks him why he chose to say he wanted to connect and Rick sits back and thinks for a moment. “Because I feel listless,” he finally says. “Like I’m incapable of it.”

Dr. Tanner gives the little smile again and asks, “When was the last time you felt like you connected with Lori?”

Rick blinks and scours his memory for that, tries to think of a time when he felt like he truly knew her. He comes up blank, or at least blank within the last year or so. But instead, he remembers a time two years ago that he, Lori, and Carl had all gone to the beach. He remembers Lori’s yellow sundress and Carl playing in the surf and he remembers how happy Lori was that they were all being a family. In his mind’s eye, he sees Lori turning to him, a big sun hat sitting on her head, and her smile as brilliant as the ocean’s. He remembers her warmth and her spirit seeking some kind of reciprocation and he knows that he smiled back at her, probably kissed her, held her right there in the sand. But he also remembers a feeling sinking into himself as heavy and weighed as an anchor, a low and kind of growly voice telling him that he was numb, that there was nothing he could hold on to, that she was as brilliant as the sun and here he was with only a distant kind of echo for what used to be a symphony of affection.

But she had been happy.

So Rick tells Dr. Tanner that story, leaving out the last part and instead saying he felt connected then, felt like they were something to each other. Lori smiles at him, her eyes sparkling, and tells him that she felt it too and she reaches over to grab his hand and squeeze it.

Later, when they leave, Lori threads her arm in Rick’s and lets Rick open her door for her. She chats the whole way back happily, saying how relieved she is that it went well. Rick listens to her with a smile on his face, but that sinking feeling returning to his heart. A vision flashes over his eyes--Daryl with his feet in the water, _the one is just a person you try to make it work with until you just can’t anymore_. And dammit, Rick has to keep trying.


	7. Quiet Waters

Saturday comes and Daryl wakes early, scooting away from Shane who has slumped toward him for warmth in the night. Shane groans unhappily as Daryl gets out of bed and manages to grab Daryl’s arm despite his grogginess. He complains--“Baby, I’ll _miss you_ ”--until Daryl sighs and leans over to give him a goodbye kiss, which, since it’s Shane, involves a good bit of tongue ending with more whining about what is Shane going to do all morning with _that thing_ , insert lewd gesture between his hips. Daryl rolls his eyes, but obliges, and it doesn’t take very long at all to stroke Shane off and to put him back to sleep, as sound as a baby.

Daryl takes a quick shower, but doesn’t grab anything to eat, hoping that Rick will want to stop on the way and kind of curious in the back of his mind whether Rick will want Burger King for breakfast or IHOP. He grabs his fishing gear which is, admittedly, a little dusty, since he spends most of his outdoor time with a crossbow instead of a pole. But, he tells himself, this will give him a chance to hone more of his skills and he can use it as a gateway drug to getting Rick out in the middle of the woods to chase down some rabbit. A vision flashes through his eyes of Rick holding his crossbow up, sighting and aiming, his arms bunching on the crossbow as he shoots. Daryl shakes his head. No time for thoughts like that.

He piles his gear into the truck and takes off, making it to Rick’s a good fifteen minutes before he should. But, as luck would have it, Rick already has his garage open and is getting his own tackle box and pole out and when he sees the truck, he gives a bright grin in the low gray before-dawn light. Daryl smiles back through the windshield and parks the car, energy crashing up and down his nerve pathways like the steady current of the ocean. Daryl makes a pact with himself right then and there--Daryl’s taken, so there’s absolutely no good that’s going to come out of him obsessing over how the curve of the man’s ear is just perfection. And Daryl doesn’t want to do that anyway. But what he does what to do, what he promises himself he’s going to do, is have a good time. Be with a friend. Let all his cares float away on the calmness of the water they’re heading to and just let himself take a huge sigh of relief and _breathe_. After all, he’s already started to notice that Rick has that effect on him.

***

Rick chooses McDonalds and they swing by for a McGriddle and one of those bagel things with sausage that Daryl has never understood. Two orange juices sitting in the cupholders and two fishing poles in the back and they head out to the river, Daryl turning his truck easily onto the highway. Rick mumbles as he eats and talks about how excited he is, about how the last time he went fishing was probably six months ago because Carl has decided he’s too old for it, despite Rick trying to make it into the boy’s lifetime hobby, and Rick warns Daryl then and there that you never, under any circumstances, ever, want to take Shane fishing because he says he likes it, but the man can’t shut up and has the patience of a charging rhino. Daryl laughs because he can totally see that and tells Rick that it’s honestly been a good bit of time for him, too, because he’s spent most of it hunting instead and besides, Merle is pretty much the same as Shane and Daryl’s really tired of sitting in a boat with the kind of man who rocks it back and forth just because he’s fidgeting too much.

Rick chuckles at that and gives him a side look around his bagel sandwich that does funny things to Daryl’s innards, but he just smiles back and turns down the road to the river, watches from the corner of his eye as Rick snarfs the rest of the sandwich. They park and walk to a nice secluded place with a clump of overhanging trees for shade. Daryl dumps a cooler he brought with Dr. Pepper and beer into a shallow part of the creek to keep cool and he picks out a nice spot that looks fairly even and comfortable. Rick sits close by him, despite the fact that they have the whole wide river and Daryl tries not to be act like a fucking schoolgirl about it.

Rick starts rummaging in his tackle box and pulls out those plastic kind of sparkly and shiny baits to use and Daryl just rolls his eyes at the _middle class_ and starts digging in the dirt beside himself for worms. He tries to keep a straight face and not belie his utter and complete confidence at how real worms are better than fake worms any day when he says, “bet I can get more than you.”

Rick pauses and blinks. “What?”

“Fish,” Daryl says and turns to him with a smirk. “Bet I can get more than you. Bet I’ll get _twice_ as many.”

Rick snorts. “You wish,” he says and starts fixing up his pole with the bait.

“Bet on it?” Daryl says with a grin.

Rick pauses and blinks. “...what are we betting?”

_How about a kiss from those pretty lips of yours_ , Daryl’s brain thinks, but he tells it promptly to shut up. “Don’t know. A drink, maybe? Think that’s fair.”

Rick smiles and Daryl watches as that soft expression turns into something conniving and scheming. “You’re on.”

Daryl smothers his grin down into his chest and finds a nice juicy worm in the dirt to use and works about setting it on the hook. Rick, finished with his bait, casts out into the river and Daryl makes a mumbled complaint that he's cheating because they didn't cast at the same time. Rick laughs and tells him he really doesn't think ten seconds gives you too much headway in _fishing_ , and Daryl smiles at him in agreeance.

And then something strange happens. They sit there together, in the quietness of the oak's shade, beside the river and the low, smooth sound of the moving current and they don't talk. It's at least half an hour later before Daryl realizes that he hasn't said one word and dammit, he doesn't need to. He slides a gaze over to Rick and sees his profile as he scans the water in front of him--the curls at the back of his head and the smooth, styled top of it, his jawline covered in just the slightest amount of stubble, his flat chest and narrow hips, knees pulled up and feet planted firmly into the gravel.

Daryl's eyes are as wide as saucers and he turns to his right, away from Rick, so that Rick won't see. Daryl doesn't do well with silences. He closes his eyes and wills his heartbeat to slow down, focuses on the sounds of the birds in the trees above them. The natural world crashes in around him and calms him as it always does and he lets his ears ring with the water and the thump of a squirrel in a nearby bush.

Merle is a talker. Merle has always been a talker, for the same reason that Daryl hates the cold, still absence of sound. It's the calm before the storm, the dead air as the bomb drops, the living room curtains whispering shut, the deadbolt hitting home, the threat of his daddy deciding there are lessons in this. For a moment, Daryl is thirteen again and Merle is in jail. For a moment, Daryl is aware of everything around him that could be used in defense--the river capable of drowning, rocks capable of bashing, his own fists capable of hitting home...and then it passes. Daryl lets out a long sigh and turns back to Rick and is amazed for the second time, thrown so far off his game he doesn't know how to breathe.

He turned his back to Rick.

Daryl blinks, unaware of how to process that, unaware of even where to begin. He's never had this problem of silence with Shane--Shane is as loud-mouthed as Merle, but if he ever _had_ , Daryl knows with 100% accuracy that he would _never_ turn his back on Shane and his physically intimidating presence, the harsh words that pour out of his throat, the raise of his eyebrow and the line of his mouth.

Beside him, Rick turns, as if sensing something's wrong. He gives Daryl an up-and-down look, but he doesn't say anything. He raises an eyebrow in question and when Daryl nods, he simply smiles and goes back to the river. Daryl can't help but think that there is an entire conversation in that simple look and beyond that, a _lifetime_ of baggage to examine in just the simple half an hour of silence in which Daryl had felt comfortable enough to let it be, comfortable and trusting enough to turn his back on another human being. It's monumental, it's life-altering. Shattering.

Daryl blinks at the shallows and tries to clear his mind.

***

It's well over an hour before either of them say anything and Rick can't help but feel a little warm and fuzzy about it all. The contrast between silence with Daryl and silence with Lori is mind-boggling. Here, Rick feels relaxed. He feels at ease and he senses that elusive thing called human connection yet again. Daryl isn't judging him for not talking, isn't _waiting on_ him to talk, isn't mad that he isn't. Instead, they're just two guys sitting fishing, letting nature and each other absorb them into some kind of picturesque, ideal setting that Rick had only ever thought was in books.

In the middle of the hour, there is a moment or two in which Daryl seems uncomfortable, even turns away. Rick senses his turmoil instinctively, even though he doesn't understand it, and when Daryl finally turns back to him, Rick asks him with a question in his eyes if he's okay. Daryl nods and Rick watches his shoulders deflate from their tension. He smiles and Daryl smiles back almost shyly before they both turn back to the river. But whatever it is that was bothering Daryl before must have just been a passing issue as the rest of the time melts by smoothly.

They don't catch any fish. It's kind of laughable.

Finally, after a great deal of companionable quietness, Daryl says, "I like listening to the birds."

Rick pauses and keys into the sounds filtering in from around them. He smiles. "Yeah?"

Daryl nods. "Mockingbird," he says, waving to the area behind them. Rick listens to the bird as it calls, sounding different pitches and phrases, one after the other. "See," Daryl continues, "you can tell what else is around because of it. Here it saying 'peter, peter'? That's a tufted titmouse. And that--" Rick listens to a series of complicated calls. "White-eyed vireo." Daryl smiles.

Rick beams. "How do you know that?"

Daryl shrugs. "Sounds like 'pick up a real chick.'"

"It does not!" Rick says, laughing, but he listens as the mockingbird cycles through its calls. "Holy shit, it _does_."

Daryl laughs at him and then they listen to the mockingbird some more, Daryl telling Rick the sounds that he recognizes. And then, all of a sudden, the bird lets out a loud and growly kind of "dur-dur-dur" and Daryl busts out into a chuckle. "That's a jackhammer," he says and they dissolve into giggling at the bird's unusual call.

As the laughter trails off, Rick turns to Daryl and sees his shirt slightly open, the chain and the "22" glistening in the light. "You know," Rick says and bites his lip. "Shane's never done that."

Daryl blinks, as if the mention of Shane has made him dig far back into his memory to remember just who that was. "What?" he asks.

Rick shakes his head and points to the necklace. "Man, I've been friends with him since high school. He has _never_ given any girl his necklace."

Daryl jerks his head down to look at the chain and then fingers it lightly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Rick says. "You like it?"

Daryl looks down at the number and grunts. "My most prized possession," he says in a tone that's the perfect line between sincerity and sarcasm. Rick tries to decipher which one it actually is, but fails pretty spectacularly, so he turns back to the water.

"So," Rick says, "I don't know much about you. Guess this was supposed to be the place where we get to know each other."

Daryl smiles. "It is," he says. "Been getting to know you real well." Rick blinks at the honesty of that and at the utter inversion to his expectations--how something like silence and just sitting with someone could make you know them better. But Daryl is _right_. The last hour has taught Rick all kinds of things that he didn't know before--like how Daryl likes to bait his hooks with real worms, like how his favorite soda is Dr. Pepper, like how he likes to touch the bluet flowers lining the bank and how he prefers to sit with his left leg under his right leg and how he often does this little chewing motion with his mouth, like he's biting at the inside of his lip for no reason. "But," Daryl continues, "if you want to be politically correct about it...what's your favorite movie?"

Rick laughs. "Seriously?"

"You want us to get to know each other. This is your fault. Spill."

Rick rolls his eyes, but then thinks. " _Point Break_ ," he says easily.

"Hmm," Daryl says. " _The Godfather_. Okay, but what's your _real_ favorite movie?"

Rick laughs. "You calling me a liar?"

"I'm calling you someone who's trying to keep up manly appearances. So say it. Your favorite movie."

Rick blushes hard and tries to will the river to swallow him. "... _Mean Girls_."

Daryl busts out laughing. " _Mean Girls_? The teenage drama."

"Shut up!" Rick says. "It was fucking hilarious. What about you, Mr. Godfather?"

Daryl bites the skin on his thumb and cast Rick a gaze under his eyelashes. "...HTTYD."

Rick blinks. "Huh?"

" _How to Train Your Dragon_. That fucker is _cute_."

Rick giggles at him and bites his lip at Daryl's shy little glances. "See?" he says, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I know you better now."

Daryl ducks his head in embarrassment, but reaches in the cooler to grab a Dr. Pepper, handing one to Rick for good measure. They smile at each other and as the sunlight starts to grow from morning into afternoon, the slants getting more direct and warm, the water bubbling as if finally waking up from its slumber, Rick is suddenly overcome with something light in his chest like the anchor rising and the echoes of his former self seem to get louder and to ring in around him, sounding an awful lot like the wind in the oak leaves and the jackhammer singing of a mockingbird.


	8. Almost Perfect

All good things must end and soon it gets too warm for them to still be out. They reel in their lines and laugh about how neither one of them caught anything, talk about what they did wrong and how maybe if they had been into actually catching fish, they would have moved to a different spot after twenty minutes of not even a bubble.

Daryl drops Rick off at his house and watches as Rick walks back into the garage with his equipment, a smile cast over his shoulder in Daryl's direction. Daryl waves and Rick waves enthusiastically back and even though Daryl wants to leap out of the truck just to continue to be with him, it's only society expectations that make him throw the truck in reverse and back out of the driveway. Well, that and Shane.

When Daryl gets home, Shane is there and he's made lunch. Which means that Shane and Merle have broken out the grill and fought over who got to make the burgers and who had to grill the corn. But Daryl lets all of his complicated thoughts about Rick and his panicked behavior at the creek go and just sits down and enjoys it. The comforting sounds of loud conversation crash into his ears as Merle and Shane argue about Ford vs. Dodge and Shane's "here are the Braves’ batting averages" vs. Merle's "the Braves suck buffalo ass."

It's nice to be home, Daryl thinks, surrounded by all the noise. Even if he kind of feels like a third wheel.

That feeling doesn't last that long, though. Once they're done eating, Merle grabs his keys and saunters off to work at the lumber yard and Shane turns to Daryl and starts pestering him about their night plans, since this will be Shane's last day off for four days. They finally decide on going to a music festival two towns over and Shane claps his hands and rubs his palms together at that. He leans over and kisses Daryl's forehead in a sarcastic kind of gentle manner and bats his eyelashes, his tongue sticking in between his teeth. "Wash the dishes, babe, since I cooked?"

Daryl throws a fork at him. "I'm not your damn housewife."

Shane grins. "Look purty enough to be," he says and then dodges the spoon. But Daryl still ends up being the one to fill the dishwasher because Shane thinks dirty dishes will poison him and the last time that Daryl had left the task to Merle, they ended up with a broken one due to Merle shoving glasses on top and around each other at weird angles.

Afterwards, Daryl goes to change and freshen up. He grabs his wallet and keys again and he and Shane head out, taking Shane's car to Handerson. The festival starts at five and by the time they get to where they're going it's two, so they have three hours to kill. Shane drives around downtown, looking for a place to hang out and he points at the corner of two streets, where a little brick building is packed away.

It's the kind of seedy bar that's damaged and old and next to a pawn shop--the kind of place where the local patrons start drinking at noon and end at midnight, stumbling home to whoever is waiting up for them. It looks dark, dank, and friendless, even the brick oozing with the smoke and sweat of the men that have housed themselves in it for decades. Daryl shakes his head fast. "No fucking way. Kind of place my daddy used to like," he says without thinking and then freezes, feels his muscles bunching into new and interesting kind of knots.

Shane freezes, too, like a deer in the headlights and turns his body slowly back to the road. He never knows what to say in these kind of situations, even though Daryl thinks in the year and a half they've been together it's only been three times that Daryl has even alluded to his childhood--the first night when Shane saw the scars, one time when they were drunk and it was October and Daryl lost it about how he missed his mom, and...now. Fuck, Daryl feels like today is not going well for him.

Shane clears his throat and slowly and gently reaches out to touch Daryl's shoulder. It's the wrong move, the absolutely last thing that Daryl needs and the physical contact makes him want to bolt straight out of the car even though it's moving. But Shane gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze and says softly, "I don't feel like bars, anyway. Let's find us a fucking Dairy Queen."

Daryl lets out a relieved sigh that's halfway between a chuckle and that breaking kind of almost losing it sound and Shane pats him once on the shoulder before removing his hand. He's trying so hard, Daryl thinks. And he's being so sweet. So why can't Daryl let him in?

***

Two blizzards and a shared order of onion rings later, Daryl and Shane start wandering Handerson to kill time. They curve the narrow streets of downtown, occasionally popping in shops to look at any object that strikes their fancy. Shane makes sure to bolt the second they walk in the door for the opposite side of the building from Daryl and things like hand-holding are incredibly out of the question--not that Daryl wants to be a sixth grader who doodles on his wide-ruled paper about how he and Shane _held hands, oh my god_. But a little attention wouldn’t KILL Shane.

But Daryl has to give him credit for the looks that he shoots Daryl as he catches eyes with him across the store--the burning desire in his wide pupils, the lick of his lips, the arched eyebrow and the quick wink. Daryl tells himself for the billionth time that coming out is a process and Daryl isn’t going to force Shane into anything he’s not comfortable with because Daryl would likely have murdered a person if they had done the same to him in his weak years.

Soon, though, it’s five and they can head to the festival where an outdoor stage has been set up. There are booths in a ring around the park that are selling various alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages and a community center lies nearby, housing a snack bar and bathrooms for the public. The music is just beginning and a crowd is forming.

They head to a makeshift bar in the corner and Shane orders a whiskey while Daryl just grabs a Guinness, mostly to hear Shane’s constant complaints about how he thought Daryl was a Natty kind of guy. They stand around the bar and drink, listening to the music and getting themselves in the mood for a good time.

“You and Rick have fun?” Shane suddenly asks and Daryl tries not to look incredibly and utterly guilty.

“Yeah,” he says and takes a drink of the Guinness, “good guy.”

Shane shrugs. “Yep. Wound too tight, though.”

“Was pretty relaxed at the creek,” Daryl says, defending him and then thinks that probably sounds wrong and he doesn’t want Shane to get the wrong idea, even though it might be the _right_ idea, and so he stumbles over his words until he hits upon, “You and Merle seemed to be having fun, too.”

Daryl can’t really tell from the angle of Shane’s head hidden in the shadows, but he thinks that might be a blush as Shane says, “Yeah! Yeah. He’s great. Fucking douchebag. But, you know, we’re good.”

Neither one of them elaborate and instead they turn to their drinks, lost in their own thoughts. Daryl swallows a large gulp of his and thinks briefly about just being honest and telling Shane that he’s attracted to Rick, if only on the physical level. But Shane isn’t exactly the most understanding kind of guy and he can get fucking jealous even if Daryl spends too long looking at the bartender, so Daryl sees a whole bucket full of problems in that. His stomach flips back and forth at the ethical dilemma he’s put himself in and his head tells him that he should stop hanging around Rick and devote all that energy into his _fucking boyfriend_.

So Daryl finishes his drink and turns to Shane, smiling and trying to lock eyes with his partner, trying to make his expression _warm_. “Middle of the crowd?” he asks, knowing that Shane likes to enjoy his music right in the thick of things and Shane grins at him too brilliantly and tosses back the rest of his whiskey. The next band has come on and is heating up as the sun sets and the lights across the field start popping on. It’s hard rock and Daryl and Shane get really into it, putting themselves right in the middle of a dancing and thick crowd. These are the only times that Shane physically touches him in public, when they’re in the middle of a group of people and not in a spotlight alone. Shane’s hands slide over him subtly, in moves that could be just the bumping of two people dancing close together. Shane touches his back, his side--even his ass at one point, when he thinks that no one’s noticing. And as the music gets harder, louder, longer, Daryl notices that Shane keeps giving him _the eye_ s, keeps giving him _those touches_ and it’s like the night they met all over again, a pile of drums and bass and screaming male voices all coalescing into Shane pushing him and dragging him toward the community center bathroom.

There’s one other guy in the room when they enter and Shane waits impatiently for him to leave before locking the door behind them and Daryl rolls his eyes at the fact that a simple kiss is too much PDA, but standing there tapping his foot waiting for the guy to piss so he can clearly have sex is totally a-okay.

And then, they’re alone. And Shane is shoving Daryl up against the bathroom counter, tongue already halfway down his throat and groin already pressed up into Daryl’s spread out legs. “You got--” Daryl starts, but Shane cuts him off.

“You know it, baby,” he says and digs in his pocket for a bottle. “Gonna fuck you seven ways from Sunday.” He bends down to suck on Daryl’s neck, biting down where it meets his shoulder. Daryl can feel Shane pressed against him rock hard and he feels his own self stirring up against Shane, encouraging him.

Shane reaches down and grabs for Daryl’s belt, tugging it loose and unbuttoning Daryl’s pants so he can slip his hand inside and grab Daryl’s length with a firm stroke. “So fucking hot for you, Shorty,” he breathes out and starts thrusting his clothed cock up against Daryl. Daryl moans loudly into the bathroom and grins with all white teeth.

“They why aren’t you fucking me?” he asks and Shane growls against him and throws him around just like Daryl likes him to do, twisting his body to shove him onto the counter and tugging down Daryl’s pants so that he can slide his fingers in, slick from the bottle, and when Daryl is almost, but not quite, ready---just like Daryl likes it to be--Shane starts fumbling at his own pants. Daryl reaches behind him and grabs Shane’s hip before he gets any farther. “Don’t take your pants off,” Daryl gasps out. “Just fucking unzip and have me.”

So Shane does and Daryl gets harder at the sound of the zipper being pulled down, at Shane’s grunt as he positions himself and then Shane is sliding in and Daryl braces himself on his elbows, letting his breath out in a loud moan at the good sting of Shane filling him.

Shane reaches forward and threads his fingers in Daryl’s hair and pulls until Daryl’s head is stretched back, his throat exposed for the mirror. “Tell me what you want, Shorty,” Shane says and Daryl grins into the mirror.

“Want your fucking dick,” Daryl says and braces himself as Shane slams forward over and over again, groaning. Daryl closes his eyes and loses himself in the feel of Shane’s hips snapping forward, his cock shoving in full-hilt until Daryl can feel the fabric of Shane’s pants against his ass. Shane pants out low-growling noises deep in his throat as his dick twitches within Daryl. “You comin’ or what?” Daryl asks in a gruff voice and Shane grunts and then pulls out suddenly, grabs Daryl’s hip hard enough to bruise and flips him over. Daryl lets his body be moved like a ragdoll and Shane grabs his ass and lifts, pulling Daryl away from the counter until Daryl stumbles and falls off of it, his arms braced against the marble and his muscles bunching to hold him up, legs going instinctively around Shane’s waist to hold his lower body in place.

Shane grins at him with that glint in his eyes, knowing full well that if he moves back another couple of inches, Daryl is going to fall to the floor. And then he slides back in and Daryl tenses his whole body to hold himself from crashing down as Shane thrusts into him over and over, the tautness of his muscles causing his ass to clench and it to be _tighter_ , _rougher_ , _harder_ until Shane hisses out through his teeth, “I’m going to come in you,” and Daryl grunts out, “Then do it, you pansy,” and then Shane is, shoving him back onto the counter with the force of it, Daryl’s head thumping against the mirror as Shane loses it deep within him, both of their bodies shuddering.

And then, after a second and a loud sigh, Shane pulls out and turns Daryl again so that Daryl is facing the mirror and starts stroking him. It doesn’t take Daryl long to finish, coming across the counter and sink and afterwards, Shane leans against the wall while Daryl cleans himself up.

Daryl can already feel the shift in the way Shane isn’t looking at him, in the way his hand is fisted at his side and his jawline is tight. It’s their pattern and Daryl knows it. It’s Shane freaking out over the act of his own sexuality, unable to come to grip with it and so irrationally lashing out at the one thing he can point to and blame. Daryl waits for the other shoe to drop and scoffs. Shane snaps his head to him. “What?” he says.

Daryl shrugs. “Never met a guy that’s more tense after sex,” he says.

Shane glares at him. “Fuck you,” he growls, the hostility in his voice blatant and seething. “What the fuck do you do to me?”

Daryl turns his head to stare at Shane, meeting his gaze easily and holding it, refusing to back down. “What the fuck do _I_ do to _you_?”

“I not a fucking queer,” Shane snaps out, against all evidence to the contrary. “And I’m not your fucking _toy_.” He slams away from the wall and heads to the bathroom door and before Daryl can say anything at all, he snaps out, “Should've just went to that damn ass bar because I wanted to. You should fucking get over it. Maybe going there would teach you a lesson.”

Daryl feels his blood ice-cold and his nerves red-hot and jumping, but before anything else can leave either of their mouths, Shane is gone and out the door.

When Daryl gets up the courage to the leave the room, the music is still blaring out a heavy bass beat and Shane is gone, the only sign of him an empty parking lot and a line of dust.


	9. Companionship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick to the rescue!

The music is suddenly dull and uninteresting and the night clammy and hot. Daryl sighs and pulls out his cellphone, but who is he going to call? Obviously not Shane, the fucker. And not Shane’s new best friend, Merle, who would try to defend him and calm Daryl down with a series of “Ah, Darylena, is it your time of the month agains?” So he dials the only other number he can think of and crosses his fingers that Rick isn’t the kind of guy who’s in bed by eight.

“Grimes residence,” a teenage voice picks up and Daryl blinks, suddenly remembering that oh, yeah, Rick has a son.

“Uh, hi,” Daryl says awkwardly, “is your dad home?”

The kid scoffs and mumbles something about how it’s always for his _dad_ and then calls so loudly that Daryl has to pull the phone away from his ear, “DAD! IT’S FOR YOU!”

There’s a shuffling of feet and then the sound of the phone switching hands. “Hello?” Rick asks and his voice already sets the tangled web of knots in Daryl’s muscles at ease.

“Hey,” Daryl says and clears his throat. “It’s me, Daryl. Um...sorry to call so late. I’m kind of stranded in Handerson…” He thinks about telling Rick the truth, that Shane left him, but he doesn’t want to get into it over the phone and he doesn’t want to risk Rick leaving him here in favor of siding with his childhood friend, so Daryl just plows ahead with the crux of the issue, “...and I was kind of wondering if you could give me a ride home?”

“Sure,” Rick says quickly and then, “hold on a sec.” Daryl hears the muffled voices of Rick and Lori having a conversation and then Rick’s voice rings back through the phone. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Daryl blinks. “It’s a thirty minute drive.”

He can almost feel the smile on Rick’s face. “Yeah, I know.”

***

Rick follows Daryl’s directions and pulls into a crowded parking lot right next to an over-flowing park set up with booths and music stages. He wonders just how Daryl is going to find him in all this mess until Daryl pops into sight and jogs for the SUV, throwing open the passenger’s door and flopping into the car with a frown on his face and a worn-out lack of tension in his shoulders. He shuts the passenger door and rubs at his jaw. “Thanks,” he tells Rick simply.

Rick blinks over at him and casts a quick glance around for Daryl’s truck. “Do you need jumper cables or something?” he asks. “I have some in the back.”

Daryl stares at him with a blank expression before finally catching on. “Oh! Um...no. I...my truck didn’t break down.” Rick frowns and is about to ask him how he got stranded when Daryl clears his throat awkwardly and looks out the passenger window. “S-shane took me here. He, um...left.”

Rick stares. “He...left.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says and lets a long-suffering sigh go. “Look, um, I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, okay? I’m tired. I’m just really _fucking_ tired. Can you just take me home?”

Rick pauses for a moment, his hand on the gearshift. Finally he gives a little nod and puts the car in reverse, backing out of the parking lot and heading out of Handerson. He watches Daryl from the corner of his eye as he slumps against the window and rubs his forehead. Rick doesn’t really feel like Daryl is the touching type, so he doesn’t reach out to try and comfort him and he doesn’t want to force Daryl to speak if doesn’t want to because Lord knows that Rick hates it when Lori and Dr. Tanner do that to him, so as they pass through the last stoplight out of town, Rick says simply, “I’m here. If you need me.”

Daryl looks over at him, his eyes glittering in the glow of the passing streetlights. “I know,” Daryl says softly and sighs. “Shane…” He shakes his head and scoffs. “ _Shane_. Is he like this with you?”

“A total douchebag who you wonder why you hang out with?”

Daryl gives a little grunt and nods slowly. “Yeah.”

Rick sighs. “Yeah. What’d he do?”

Daryl shakes his head and stares out the window. “Hard to even describe. He...we fucked in the bathroom and afterward, he told me he wasn’t queer. Said a stupid comment about my d-dad and then left me high and dry.”

Rick takes a moment to process the gallons of information in Daryl’s speech and his own reactions--the clenching of his fists on the steering wheel at the mention of Daryl and Shane intimate, the anger that boils in him for Daryl that Shane peeled and ran, the whispery kind of low growl of the word “dad” that speaks of nothing good.

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Rick says, reminding himself at the same time that there are two sides to every story, even though he’s known Shane for long enough to know that it’s him that’s in the wrong.

“He’s having a hard time coming out,” Daryl says, the words rehearsed like he says them to himself a lot. Rick watches from the side as Daryl clenches his jaw and digs his fingernails into his knee.

“No excuse to leave you or talk about your family,” Rick tells Daryl.

Daryl pauses and slides a glance his way. “My fault. I...I shouldn’t have mentioned my dad this afternoon. Fucking stupid.” Daryl shakes his head and blinks his eyes lightning fast. “Gave him fucking ammunition.” He covers his mouth and turns away, his hands and shoulders shaking with a kind of movement that Rick is all too familiar with, but doesn’t quite want to admit he sees.

“Fuck,” Rick says softly. “It’s not your job to make sure that Shane doesn’t use what you say as _ammunition_ to hurt you.”

Daryl shakes his head, but remains quiet, and after a moment, there’s a loud sniffle from the passenger’s side. “I just want him to be _nice_.”

Rick can’t stand it anymore. He pulls the car over to the side of the road and kills the engine. Daryl rubs quickly at his face and Rick fights within himself as to whether to be a man and ignore it or be a friend and help. Eventually he figures that friend will win every time and so he rummages in the backseat for a box of kleenex and holds it out to Daryl.

Daryl stares at the box with a glare in his eyes, but eventually takes a kleenex and blows his nose. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, tired and worn. “I’m such a goddamn pussy.”

Rick bites his tongue so that he doesn’t say what he’s really thinking--that he’s going to murder Shane with a machete for making Daryl cry. “You deserve to have someone that’s nice to you,” he says instead and when the thought “ _I_ would be” flashes across his mind, he shoves it back down into the “process later” box.

Daryl shakes his head. “No, he is,” he says in that voice people use when they’re trying to convince themselves. “He is. He’s just having a hard time.”

Rick scoffs. “It’s not _that_ hard,” he says and Daryl glares at him.

“Yeah, like you know,” he says, his eyes red and burning with an emotion that dissolves quickly into anger. “ _Straight people_. You always think you know.”

Rick bristles at that. “I’m sorry, but I can’t think of one good reason to leave someone stranded in a town thirty minutes from their home. That’s just tacky no matter what your fucking sexuality.”

Daryl sighs loudly and closes his eyes, rubs his hand over his forehead again. “I’m sorry. I just...I’ve had a really bad night.”

Rick nods. “I get it. You don’t have to apologize. And hey. Daryl?”

“What?” Daryl asks, snapping his gaze over to Rick.

Rick pauses and asks himself if he really wants to say what he’s about to, but the thought of _not_ , of leaving Daryl without knowing sets up the taste of bile in the back of his mouth so he clears his throat and says softly, “If I was with you, I would never do that to you. I can’t imagine why someone would.”

Daryl blinks at him rapidly and looks away, his eyes wide. “Um...Rick?” he asks, turning back and meeting his gaze. For a moment, Rick is lost in the deep dark blue of his irises, reflecting the low light from outside the car and he feels his skin itching, his upper body willing itself to move forward. He parts his lips and is suddenly very aware that somehow the conversation has shifted away from Shane and Daryl to Rick and Daryl and that feels a little off and not quite right. Rick wonders what he’s doing and then feels quickly that he should clarify.

“I mean,” Rick says, “Shane should really get his act together. Or, you know, he doesn’t deserve you.”

Daryl nods slowly and latches onto the mention of Shane again, looking at the dashboard in front of him. “He’s trying. What he’s doing now...tonight...it’s self-sabotage, you know? He wants me to be angry so that I’ll dump him so that he can go back to being straight and stop hating himself. But then when I get angry enough to do it, he misses me because, let’s face it, he doesn’t have this kind of relationship with women and we both know it. So he asks me to take him back and I do and then we’re good, we’re _almost_ there and then he blows it again and repeat. It’s exhausting. It’s fucking _tiring_. But I get it I guess.” He sighs heavily. “I just have to be patient.”

“Even if it hurts?”

Daryl bites his lip and nods. “Yeah. Even if it hurts.”

Rick turns and looks out the windshield at the dark countryside surrounding them. “So...I’m going to take you home. And tomorrow you’re going to take him back.”

Daryl shrugs slowly, his shoulders rising and falling with great effort. “...yeah. I...I don’t want to go home. I don’t know if he’s there or not, but I don’t want to see him. And I don’t want to see my brother, either, who’s become fucking _friends_ with him.” Daryl closes his eyes, squeezes them shut and then squares his shoulders and nods decisively. “Could you take me to the Motel 6?”

Rick shakes his head. “Absolutely not. How about you come home? Lori made some kickass burgers tonight. I can heat you up some and you can spend a little time there.” Daryl opens his mouth to protest, but Rick quickly cuts him off. “Please? It would make me feel better to know that you’re okay.”

Daryl shakes his head, blinking his eyes rapidly again. He lets go of a sad little chuckle. “Do you become friends this fast with everyone?” he asks.

“No,” Rick admits, turning the car back on and putting it in drive. “You’re just special.”

***

Daryl’s eyes are redder than he wants them to be, his nerves more shaken that he would like, and his entire essence more worn down and treaded upon that he would ever wish it to be. But he really can’t tell Rick no and, to be honest, the thought of a hot meal and a friend who doesn’t judge him or call him too sensitive is incredibly appealing. So he lets Rick take him back to his house and, when they walk in the door, he doesn’t even complain at the fact that he’s bombarded by a scruffy-looking teenage boy with his arms crossed and a look on his face that says clearly “this is my territory and who are you?”

“This is Daryl,” Rick says, introducing him, “and Daryl, this is my son, Carl.”

“‘Sup,” Carl says, lifting his chin in acknowledgement.

“Hi,” Daryl says back.

Carl raises his eyebrow. “Daryl, huh? The Daryl dating Shane?”

“Uh…” Rick says, but before he can offer to defend Daryl, Carl is lifting out his fist for a fist-bump.

“Cool, man,” Carl says. “Represent.”

Daryl gives him a funny look, but meets the fist bump and Carl nods as if this was all acceptable to him and his job is done. He turns to his dad and nods. “Gotta go call Enid.”

“Sure,” Rick says and Carl is already up the stairs before he pauses. “Enid?”

Lori chuckles from the doorway that she’s just appeared in. “They’re becoming ‘good friends.’”

“Friends?” Rick asks, a panicked edge to his voice, but Lori waves him away.

“Daryl. How are you? I heard you were stranded?”

“Shane left him,” Rick says quickly. “Left him, Lori.”

Lori blinks, her eyes wide. “Oh…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Daryl says, really not wanting to get into another conversation about how he’s the _victim_ in all this.

Lori nods as if understanding. “Sure. So, the guestroom? I’ll go pull out the extra blankets…”

Rick and Daryl both stare at her with their mouths open until Lori puts her hand on her hip and turns to Rick with a glare in her eyes. “Richard, did you not invite him to stay?”

“Uh…” Rick says. “I invited him for burgers?”

Lori rolls her eyes and turns to Daryl with that sweet smile on her face. “Daryl, you are more than welcome to stay in our guestroom tonight if you would like.”

Daryl blushes despite himself and sticks his hands far into his pockets. He thinks about sleeping in Rick’s house, a few feet _from_ Rick and the thought is thrilling and comforting all at once. And so, so temptingly wrong that Daryl has to refuse. “I couldn’t,” he says. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“You wouldn’t have any clothes at the motel, either,” Rick protests and Lori waves them both away.

“I’m a pretty good judge of size,” Lori tells Daryl, “and I’m pretty sure you and Rick are perfectly compatible. I’m sure you can borrow something of his.”

Daryl feels his face heat up and he can see Rick’s own get redder, but Lori must not notice as she turns away to the kitchen. “Come on,” she says, “I’ll reheat the burgers and then get the sheets and some clothes for you. It won’t be any problem at all.”

Daryl figures there’s no point in protesting and Lori looks like she’s likely to deadbolt him in, so he follows her into the kitchen and watches as she busies herself about. He and Rick sit at the table and Lori hands Rick two glasses and the lemonade pitcher so that he can pour each of them a glass.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Daryl tries, but Lori waves him away quickly.

“Absolute nonsense,” she says. “You’re our friend. And our guestroom needs a little bit of love every once in awhile anyway.”

Rick nods and grabs the bag of BBQ chips they have to go with the burgers, which is perfect as Daryl says it’s his favorite.. “Yeah. I mean, really, it hasn’t been used since, what Lori? Penny’s wedding?”

Lori sits and thinks. “Probably so. God, that must mean I need to dust in there. You don’t mind, do you, Daryl?”

Daryl shakes his head, fascinated by the domesticity. “Speaking of weddings, Rick,” Lori says as she puts the burgers on the stove to heat, “Glenn and Maggie’s is coming up, you know.”

Rick makes a face at Daryl. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lori tells him and smiles at Daryl. “He hates weddings.”

“Pomp and circumstance,” Rick says and takes a drink of his lemonade. “They’re never about love. Just about looking good for your family.”

Lori rolls her eyes, but turns to Daryl. “It will be nice. It’s on a river bank and the reception is at Maggie’s father’s farm. It’s beautiful. Very natural, you know? The perfect place.”

Daryl nods along as Lori tells him about it--going over the colors and the theme, what’s on their registry, how pretty the invitations were. Daryl and Rick smile at each other as she talks, having a silent conversation about women and their _colors_.

And then soon, it’s time for bed. Lori leads Daryl to the bedroom and tells him goodnight with a quick squeeze of his shoulder. He looks around the room, examining the nice wood walls and the pretty green comforter spread. The room smells nice, but unused and unfamiliar and Daryl has a brief flashing thought coming straight up from his dick about what Rick’s bedroom would smell like, what his pillow would feel like pressed against Daryl’s face. Daryl swallows and thinks about what a bad, bad idea this all is.

Within minutes, Rick appears in the doorway, holding a folded up pile of clothes. The tips of his ears are red and Daryl blinks, having a moment as he watches Rick stand in front of him, the soft light of the house seeming like it’s shining just for the two of them. Daryl imagines that this isn’t Lori and Rick’s house, it’s _theirs_ , and earlier it was Daryl standing in the kitchen, making small talk about what they have to do next week as he washes dishes, Rick drinking lemonade and rolling his eyes at him and then leaning in to kiss him, softly and without any fanfare, without the hard edges and tongue of what Shane does, but just the simple and familiar press of lips to lips. Just the _I acknowledge you and I love you_ and how nice would it be? To watch that white SUV pull into the parking lot for him every day and not have to worry about ever seeing the taillights of Shane’s car leaving him in the dust, to always come home to Rick and his smile and his eyes as blue as the caribbean ocean?

But Rick is married, Daryl tells himself. Happily married, if tonight was any indication. And Daryl won’t break up a good thing. And besides, he’s already decided to give Shane another pass. He has to be patient. What he said was right--it’s not easy. Shane just needs time. And really, they’re so close, _so very close_ to making it work.

But thoughts of Shane dissolve as Rick smiles at him awkwardly and thrusts out the clothes in his hand. “Hope they fit,” Rick tells him, “they’re my old soccer clothes from college. I guess if you can wear Shane’s number, you can wear these, huh?”

Daryl smiles. “I’m sure they’re fine,” he says and takes the blue shorts and the white shirt. “Um, thanks. For the clothes. And for letting me stay over.”

Rick waves him away. “No problem. Um...so, have a good night?”

Daryl nods slowly. “Yeah. Um...you too.”

***

Rick lays awake in his bedroom, unable to sleep. Beside him, Lori’s deep breathing sets up a familiar nighttime rhythm and outside, the world has gone quiet and still. But Rick is restless, wide eyed, and fully focused. _Daryl is sleeping in the room next to him_. His mind stirs with it, his body shuffles with it, and something deep within him begins to churn and ache like a slow burning muscle pain. _Daryl is sleeping in the room next to him. Daryl is sleeping in the room next to him. Daryl is next to him. Daryl is_ \--

Rick swallows heavily and closes his eyes, tries to sleep, but fails. Daryl is in his house. Daryl is wearing his clothing. Daryl is in the next room in _shorts_ and a _T-shirt_ and he probably looks warm and sleep-rumpled, safe and happy. A thought crossed Rick’s mind, one of those middle-of-the-night crazy notions that make no sense when daylight comes-- _this means something._

_This means something._


	10. Broken and Mixed Alliances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter this time, guys! Hope you enjoy!

In the morning, Rick is pissed. The reasons for this are complex, intertwining, and many-fold but it can all be boiled down to 1) little sleep, 2) the dread of having to face Shane at work and somehow pretend that Rick is on his side and 3) that when Rick has to leave for work, Daryl isn’t awake so he doesn’t get to say goodbye.

Shane arrives in the patrol car at exactly seven, meaning that Rick can no longer wait for Daryl to wake up, and Rick puts his friend’s newfound punctuality on the list as yet another reason why Shane is a shit-throwing gorilla fucker today. Rick specifically does NOT tell Shane that Daryl is in his house as he climbs into the passenger’s side with his jaw clamped shut and the fingers wrapped around his travel mug white and gripping. He makes sure, though, to shut the door softly so that Shane won’t have an indicator of his mood and it works, Shane too busy in his own thoughts to give any mind to the small signals of Rick’s body.

The drive in is torture. Rick tries to focus on the road and then on his coffee, tries not to engage Shane in conversation, but soon Shane starts talking about this _great new band he discovered last night_ and Rick feels like a ticking nuclear.

“Daryl go with you?” he asks, trying to keep his voice casual and sweet.

Shane grunts and stares at the middle of the road, the steady double yellow line. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Shane raises an eyebrow and licks his lips. “Yeah, he went. We...fuck, man. He got on my case. You know? Didn’t have a good night. Ended it early.”

Underneath Rick’s skin, little nodes of anger start crawling over his nerves until his fist feels restless and itching to swing. “Got on your case?”

“Yeah,” Shane says with a sigh. “You wouldn’t know it by staring at him--looks hillbilly-y and manly and shit, I guess--but he’s more _agenda_ than he should be. You know what I’m saying? He wants to _hold hands_ or _hug_ or _eskimo kiss_ or some shit.” Shane drops his voice to a low hiss and arches his eyebrows at Rick. “ _In public_ ,” he says, as if that should outrage and offend Rick.

Rick swallows down a gulp of hot coffee and tries to tell his mind to _calm down_ , that there are two sides to every story and this is Shane telling his. And who knows? There might be some truth in it, despite the fact that what Rick heard from Daryl was pretty straight-forward, despite the fact that Rick can’t think of a good reason to leave someone high and dry, despite the fact that Rick has been privy to Shane’s particular dating style since high school and can be an eyewitness to some of Shane’s less than stellar actions. So Rick balls up and pushes down his real and true feelings about how Shane made Daryl cry and there is no universe in which that is acceptable and instead says, “He’s not patient, huh?”

“No!” Shane says, latching onto it. “Like, okay, we had sex in the bathroom. And that was great. But he expects to be _held_ and shit afterwards and, okay, I’m not that touchy kind of guy. You know? I mean I like him and all, I do. But I don’t even do that with chicks, you know? Hit it and get a beer afterwards, that’s what I wish he’d do. But no. _Noooooo_. He has to have all this other stuff that’s just not me. I don’t want to walk down the street with a rainbow flag as a shirt and yell out how I like this guy’s balls, you know what I’m saying?”

“So maybe you should break up with him,” Rick counsels and feels a weird kind of thrill rattle up and down his spine at the thought of Daryl single.

Shane pauses in his wild hand gesturing and ranting and stares over at Rick for a lot longer than he should, considering he’s driving. Eventually, he turns his head back to the road. “Break up with him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Rick says. “I mean, if you two aren’t good together.”

Shane grunts. “Like you and Lori?”

Rick bristles. “That’s different. It’s marriage, not just dating. And Carl is a huge issue, too. This is the time, man, to cut your losses if you really aren’t getting along.”

“Nah,” Shane says and shakes his head fast. “I like him. I do. I’m just blowing off steam, brother. I’m not going to get rid of him. He puts up with me. He’s cool. And Rick, you would not _believe_ the talent that guy has at smokin’ a dick.” Shane shakes his head. “Whew. No. Not going to get rid of him.”

Rick frowns and goes back to staring at his mug. “So what happened then? After the bathroom?”

Shane sets his jaw. “Nothin’. I left. He stayed.”

“He stayed, huh?” Rick asks, pressuring Shane to _admit_ it.

Shane slides his eyes over to Rick slowly, guilt flickering in his pupils. “Uh...kind of left him.”

“Left him?” Rick says and latches on like a pitbull on a rope. “Left him, what, without a vehicle?”

Shane shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, did he get home okay?”

Shane blinks. “Sure, I suppose. Must of.”

Rick narrows his eyes. “ _Must have_?” he asks.

“He’s a big boy,” Shane says, lifting his shoulders in a powerful shrug. “He can get home on his own.”

“You didn’t check?” Rick prods.

“Nah, he don’t like that shit,” Shane says quickly, the excuse evident in his voice.

Rick turns to the passenger’s side window and grumbles, “Think that’s not all he doesn’t like.”

***

The sun filters in through the venetian blinds above him and Daryl wakes slowly to a bed that feels like 100% goose feather in a room that smells of lilac and peaches. He sighs into the pillow, marveling in the feel of waking up in _Rick’s_ bed, in _Rick’s_ house, wearing _Rick’s_ shorts and thinking about taking a shower in _Rick’s_ bathroom and all of these facts together coalesce into one very important thing: that Daryl is rock hard and he doesn’t know what to do about it. He absolutely refuses to touch himself. He will _not_ take himself into his hands that he would have to _slide underneath the waistband of Rick’s shorts, holy fuck_. But he’s also pretty sure that this _thing_ will not be going away anytime soon without some serious help, so he lays board-straight on his back and thinks of the least sexy things he can imagine--the formation of Mars and the yellow happy face of Walmart’s rollback sticker, the safety procedures for if your oven catches fire and that one time that he accidentally saw Merle naked walking out of the shower and Merle’s surprise had resulted in a choking kind of scream that sounded like a wounded gopher.

That does it. Daryl is free to move about the cabin now. He sighs and gets up out of bed, running his fingers through his hair quickly to pat it down into some kind of behavior and slowly makes his way to the kitchen. Before he even arrives, the aroma of baking hits his nostrils and he hears the soft clang of dishes. He rounds the corner to find Lori standing by the oven, a pan in one hand and an oven mitt in the other. Lori looks up as he enters and smiles.

“Daryl, good morning.”

“Mornin’,” Daryl grunts and casts his eyes around for the familiar shape of Rick. Lori sees him looking and shakes her head.

“Rick’s at work and Carl left with his buddies to ride their bikes. Summer vacation.” Lori shrugs. “So congratulations on being the last one up.”

  
Daryl blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “Uh...sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Lori says, “you’re a guest. You get special privileges.” She opens the oven and checks on what’s inside.

“What’re you making?” Daryl asks, partly because the silence is awkward and partly to distract himself from the pit of disappointment in his stomach that he doesn’t get to see Rick this morning.

Lori pushes her hair behind her ear and shrugs. “Peach pie,” she says. “Rick bought more peaches than we needed and I thought it would be a nice gift for the new neighbor. He brought the first pie pan back last night and just raved about it.”

“New neighbor, huh?” Daryl asks and wanders over to the window to look around the neighborhood. “Which house?”

“Green one on the end there,” Lori says and walks over, points to the building.

As they’re watching, a dark-skinned man slides out of the front door in a gray shirt and black sweatpants that look a little too tight for him. He walks to the driveway and grabs his newspaper from off the sidewalk before going and getting the mail and Daryl watches from his peripheral vision as Lori puts a hand up to her neck and starts fiddling unconsciously with her necklace, her eyes glued to the house. Daryl watches her watch the neighbor and then after a moment where he makes doubly sure that this is actually what’s happening, asks, “...so you check out all your neighbor’s asses?”

Lori flounders more violently than a fish flapping on the land and turns to Daryl, her eyes wide. “I was not...I was not _checking out his ass_ ,” she says in a low hiss.

Daryl smirks. “No? Not looking at his buns? Not sizing up the assets? Not examining the housewares?”

“No!” Lori says quickly, but her face is apple red. “I _wasn’t_.”

“It’s okay,” Daryl says and shrugs. “You’re just looking, right? We all just look.” _Rick_ , his treacherous mind says, but he pushes that thought down violently.

Lori bites her lip and slides a glance at Daryl. “Don’t tell Rick?”

Daryl laughs. “About the man with the nice ass?”

“You are a terrible influence,” she says and turns back to the kitchen, checking on the pie again.

Daryl tries to help it. He really does. He tries incredibly hard to tell himself _ho, don’t do it_. But he can’t, he just _can’t_. “...is that the second peach pie you’ve made for him? Or the third?” Daryl asks and Lori shoots him a teasing and friendly glare.

***

Daryl wastes as much time as he possibly can bumming around the Grimes’ residence and helping Lori bake, followed by the justification of “of course I need my clothes washed!”, followed by a quick stint of Mario Kart against Carl who kicks his ass from here to the start of the apocalypse.

The truth of the matter boils down to that Daryl really, really, _really_ does not want to face Shane. Because here, sitting in Rick and Lori’s living room, is almost picturesque. It’s almost as if he didn’t have a horrible fight with his boyfriend last night and instead, he’s waiting happily at home for his partner to pull in the driveway after a long shift at work, passing the time by hanging out with one of his friends.

Daryl really likes this house.

Carl whoops his ass for the third time and Daryl sighs and throws the remote down in disappointment right about the same time that Lori emerges from the laundry room. Carl jumps on her when she’s in view. “ _Don’t forget, Mom_ ,” he says, pulling out the ‘these are the most important moments of my life’ card. “I have baseball in an hour. Patrick’s dad is watching all of us, so yes, it’s safe, but I have to go. I think I can do another no-hitter today. I can feel it,” Carl says, squeezing his fingers together, “in my _fist_.”

Lori rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’ll drop you off at Patrick’s. It’ll be good for me, actually. I have to go dress shopping for the wedding.” She pauses and slides a sly glance toward Daryl. “Daryl, would you like to come?”

Daryl blinks and goes over the conversation in his brain. No, he’s pretty sure that Lori asked him to go dress shopping with her. Does Daryl look like the kind of guy who dress shops? He’d never thought so before. He says a very intelligent, “uh…” and then Carl jumps in on Lori, full throttle.

“ _Oh my god, Mother,_ ” Carl says in an exasperated tone, “that is so _stereotypical_. Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he’s good at fashion. He’s a person, you know. Not just a caricature.”

Daryl really can’t think of anything else to say to that, so he just points at Carl and raises his eyebrow with a nod. Lori rolls her eyes. “Well, I am _sorry_ , Mr. Dixon. But the offer still stands if you’d like to.” She pauses and turns to Carl. “And what’s gotten you all up in arms over gay rights?”

Carl gives her that _moms_ look and just shrugs in a very typically vague teenage fashion. Lori lets it go, though, and gathers her purse so that her and Carl can head out. Daryl thinks over his options lightning fast--to go home or to wedding dress shop? He finds it’s a no-brainer. Dresses will make him forget about Shane, so that’s the path he takes.

***

After Carl is successfully dropped off, screaming at the top of his lungs “NO-HITTER!” as he rushes out of the car, Lori curves the vehicle toward the mall and Daryl wonders what happened to his life that he’s sitting in a white SUV with a woman whose husband he’s ridiculously romantically-attracted to heading toward the women’s stores in the back corner of Oak Tree Mall that he would never, ever even step foot into on his own.

But here he finds himself entering Dress Barn and being a personal dress rack for Lori as she piles up things on his arm--white, blue, purple, strapless, hang-off-the-shoulder, full strapped, full skirt, short skirt. He never knew before that there was so much terminology that went into the damn shit that you wear on your _ass_ , but whatever. He’s here to help.

Lori finally decides that the dressing limit is 10, so she’d better stop at 11, and goes into the back, dragging Daryl with her and depositing him in a chair beside a full-length mirror. Two seats down, a posh looking business woman with a child sitting next to her wrinkles her nose at him and he fights down the urge to make a gesture right back at her.

Lori comes out with the first dress (white) and Daryl tells her that even he knows you don’t wear white to a wedding. So she tries on a black and funeral and then a black-and-white and grandma and then a purple that makes her hips look nonexistent and then a blue that looks washed out and makes her looks sickly and before Daryl knows it he is telling her to _wait right there_ and is rifling through the racks in the dress store like he knows what the hell he’s doing.

Turns out he has a better eye than he thought he did and he wants to punch everyone who makes any kind of comment about it because gay genes don’t make dress genes except for whatever, maybe they do. He hands her a red dress and Lori balks and tells him up-front that she doesn’t wear warm colors. Daryl doesn’t know what the hell that means. Colors don’t have temperature, but he tells her to just put the damn thing on and he sits in his chair with his arms crossed, glaring at Mrs. Wall Street and her Pigtailed Brat.

And then Lori comes out.

The dress ends at the knees and is tight at the bottom instead of fluffy and the sleeves are there in a discreet kind of manner, but still show enough skin to be sexy, and the color looks fucking fabulous, if Daryl says so himself. Her skin glows with it and it makes her hair look more chestnut than just brown, giving it a nice kind of complementary glow and also has the added effect of bringing out the hazel in her eyes and making her irises warm and inviting. Lori takes one look in the mirror and lets go of a little gasp. It’s polite society, so she doesn’t cuss, but Daryl imagines she would if they were at home. She puts her hand up to her necklace again and tilts her head at her reflection. “Daryl Dixon,” she says to him. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Huh?” Daryl asks in a grunt.

Lori rolls her eyes. “You clearly have a great eye for detail,” she says and smooths the dress down in the front. “This is the one. This is the dress I want. It’s going to be _fabulous_.”

The woman next to Daryl shifts a little in her seat and then casually asks what Daryl thinks of the color green on her and then another lady just coming into the room joins the discussion and Daryl has no idea what A-line, flounce, tea-length, empire, or U and V cuts mean, but he goes with the flow and the women seem to like him and, hell, even be _impressed_ by him, so he’ll call it a win.

And then Lori’s phone rings. She steps out and Daryl follows her, but hangs back at a distance to give her space. He hears her answer--“Rick?”--and his legs go a little wobbly. He tells himself not to eavesdrop, but he still catches little snippets of the conversation, her voice hissing and low--“I thought you did that...that’s your job, Rick...well, no, I _can_...sure, I’ll take time out of my busy day to do your chores for you...how much?...Good lord, Rick, you didn’t remember until now?...Fine...Fine...I’ve got it... _Goodbye_.” She slams the call button down with a little angry jerk of her thumb and after only one spare glance at Daryl, checks out with the red dress firmly in its bag.

“I have to go pay the mortgage,” Lori grumples to him, “Rick _forgot_ and it’s two weeks late.”

“Oh…” Daryl says because he thinks that’s all he has to add to the conversation and then Lori _launches into it_ as they walk back to the car, complaining about the late fee and Rick’s forgetfulness and how he had called her and the tone in his voice and the fact that she can’t trust him to do even the little things and Daryl just sits back and listens to her, letting her go on and on about all of the wrong things that Rick has done to her. They climb in the car and Daryl clicks his seatbelt and just sits back in the face of Hurricane Lori as she weaves in and out of traffic on her way to the bank.

She parks in front of an unassuming gray building and whips out her checkbook, furiously writing in the little line spaces. “I just...I am so _frustrated_ ,” she says and then sighs, bringing her hand up to her forehead and tossing the checkbook back into her purse, forgotten. “I am so sorry, Daryl. This is not at all what you signed up for, I’m sure.”

Daryl is inclined to agree--he certainly doesn’t like the awkward feel of being in the middle of a domestic dispute between two new friends and if he’s being honest with himself, he really doesn’t know how to handle any kind of upset woman, let alone a married upset woman. But he thinks back to what Rick did for him the night before--how Rick listened with open ears, was a _friend_ to him. And then he thinks about the dress shopping and about having skills you might not even know about, so he figures what the hell. He’ll try to help.

He shakes his head. “No, um...I’m not real good at consoling and stuff, but I’m here to listen if you need me to.”

Lori looks at him then and stops her barrage of complaints. “I’m a Class A bitch, aren’t I?” she says and shakes her head, pushing her hair behind her ear. She flops back against the driver’s seat and shakes her head again, staring out at the clean cut grass of the bank lawn. “I try to tell myself--every time I talk to him, I try to tell myself--be nice, Lori. This time, be nice. He’s a good guy. He hasn’t done anything wrong. But then everytime, I yell at him. I become this monster and you know what he does? He just sits there. Just takes it. Happy wife, happy life, right? He has to appeaseme. I don’t want him to fucking _appease_ me. I want him to...to be honest.” Her voice cracks just a little and she shakes her head angrily. “I’m sorry. I’m an angry crier and this is not helping.” She takes a huge breath. “I want him to be real with me. To have a conversation with me. We haven’t had a conversation in years. Not a real one in which we were both equally participating. You know? And...and if we can’t have that, then...then I want him to get angry at me. I want him to yell. It would help me know that he has a couple _feelings_ deep in there. But nothing. He gives me _nothing_. And…”

She stares out the windshield again and then sighs and looks at her hands in her lap. Daryl feels that now is the time in which he shouldn’t say anything. She feels like she’s on the precipice of an idea, a confession or an admission, and he thinks she should probably get there. After a long moment, she takes a small little breath and says, “I want him to divorce me.”

Daryl blinks. “You...want him to divorce you?” Daryl repeats.

Lori flinches, but nods. “I’ve wanted it for months now. I just...I’ve lost hope.” She shrugs sadly and lets her shoulders sag as they fall back down. “I don’t think we can make it work. I wanted to. He wanted to. But it’s just...it’s not in the cards. We’re never going to be right for one another. So...I think we’re over. I think we’ve been over for a long time.”

Daryl holds his breath for a count of three, makes sure that what he’s about to say is for Lori and Rick and not for himself out of any kind of selfish wish for an opening. “Then why don’t you divorce him?” he asks.

Lori widens her eyes and blinks, as if this notion is surprising and also terrifying. “Because I’m afraid,” she admits and looks over at him, her eyes as big and dark as a new moon. “I...I don’t know if I’m strong enough to make it on my own. I don’t think...what would I do? All my life, I was...I was my daddy’s little girl and then I was my mother’s shadow and then Rick’s wife. I’ve never been Lori. I don’t know how to be Lori. I don’t know if she’s strong enough to even try...to even exist.” Lori takes a shaky breath. “I’ve never been alone before.”

“You wouldn’t be alone,” Daryl says.

Lori shake her head in disbelief. “All of my friends are women that don’t talk to divorcees. Or Rick’s friends. Even you. You’re my new friend.” She shrugs. “You’re Rick’s friend, too.”

“Eh,” Daryl says, surprising himself. “Fuck him.” He smiles at her and gets a little, tiny smile in return. “I mean...I am Rick’s friend. But I’m yours, too. Bet Shane feels the same way.”

Lori lets out a long breath of a sigh. “Thank you. For...for listening to me. I...I still need to try. You know? But...it helps. To know if it doesn’t work out, there’s someone there.” She wipes at her eyes and checks her makeup before picking up her checkbook again. “Need to go pay the mortgage,” she says and Daryl is left wondering if he even helped at all.

***

Rick slams the door to the patrol car and is glad to be at home and rid of Shane, who has begun to make his skin crawl with frustration at how Shane never picked up the phone to text or call Daryl _once_ to make sure he was okay.

The SUV is parked unassumingly in the garage and the kitchen smells of peaches and the just beginning hint of meat cooking. Rick has hung up his coat and thrown his badge in the bowl by the door before he hears a distinctive and very male snort from the living room. He spins around, his hackles raised, to see Daryl sprawled across his couch, playing with Carl’s X-box and looking like he’s having a grand time.

Rick feels the tension in his shoulders melt and his face break out into a smile. “You’re _still here_?” he asks and Daryl shrugs.

“Your wife took me on errands,” he tells Rick and Rick blushes just a little at how that means that Daryl had probably been privy to their earlier argument. Daryl pauses whatever he’s doing on the screen and stands up from the couch, sticking his hands deep into his pockets. “Uh...wanted to be here when you got home.”

Rick blinks. “Why?” he asks, even though he tells himself that it really doesn’t matter if he gets to see Daryl.

Daryl bites at his lip and then looks at the ground, kicking one of his shoes with the other foot. “Wanted to say thanks, I guess,” he mumbles. “For last night.”

Rick smiles and reaches out slowly to put a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. He squeezes and feels the bunch of Daryl’s muscles under his hand rise and fall. “It was nothing. Don’t even worry about it. You need a ride home?”

Daryl shrugs. “Wouldn’t hurt. Better be quick, though, if you want to get it done before dinner. Lori’s cooking spaghetti.”

Rick smiles soft and slow. “You could stay?” he asks and the reflection of the sunlight through the windows catches in Daryl’s eyes like little fairydust sprinkles that make Rick shiver even though the house is warm.

Daryl blinks and the mood evaporates. “Nah,” he says. “I’ve already practically rented out the whole month in your guestroom. Better get back.” He lets a tiny smile go, though. “So let’s go and then I’ll see you around?”

Rick nods and he suddenly can’t think of anything better.


	11. Stop and Stare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Think you guys will like this one. :D And alternatively hate me. :0

When Rick drops Daryl off at home, Shane is there, waiting around for him worriedly and instead of launching into a great speech about how sorry he is--one that Daryl has written in his head for Shane _several_ times over the past day--he just acts like nothing at all has happened and grills Daryl about his day. Daryl figures it’s easier to give in than fight, so he tells Shane about Lori and her dress, about staying over at Rick’s for the night.

Daryl watches as a flash of something crosses Shane’s eyes before Shane starts cussing Rick out because apparently Rick hadn’t told Shane that Daryl was staying there, despite the fact that they’d had patrol all day together. Daryl just shrugs and says he’s sure that Rick just didn’t want to get into the middle of it, but he’s secretly relieved that the two cops hadn’t used him as a mutual point of gossip.

After that, Shane falls back into his old patterns of making fun of Daryl easily--calling him out for dress shopping and saying that he didn’t think that Daryl was _that_ kind of queer and when Daryl gets pissed, it’s all “oh, Shorty, I didn’t mean it like that!” and “let’s just have a good time,” and “come over here and sit on my lap,” and despite Daryl’s conscience, he gives into Shane’s sweet talk, more because he’s weary than anything else and they have an alright night.

After that, it’s days of work and chores piling up on one another before Daryl can breathe. The industrial plant out on the northwestern corner of town had their AC unit tanked and instead of calling a large corporate company, they had elected to go local and call Daryl’s business. Daryl’s boss harped up and down about how they’d get out the _best man_ , which for better or worse happened to be _Daryl_ and despite his honor at the phrase, he’s also bone weary for working on an air-conditioning unit the size of Alaska. On top of that, Merle’s begun to bitch about how his baby brother’s too queer to love him anymore and Shane has taken to spending more and more time over at the Dixon residence in an effort to fuck Daryl into a coma while alternately beating Merle at checkers. So far, no go on either account.

So it’s a week and a half later until Daryl hears from the Grimes. When his cellphone rings with the by now familiar number of the Grimes’ house lit up, Daryl scrambles like a little kid to hit the call button. He suddenly aches in his bones with a deep down kind of hum for the smooth southern twang of Rick’s sophisticated Georgia drawl. But instead of a tenor voice laced with plantation and money, he gets the high, sweet click of Lori saying, “Daryl! I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

Daryl shifts mental gears, the bumps on his arms fading, but the smile still on his face, as this is his new friend, goddammit. “Hey, Lori,” he says, trying to keep the disappointment at bay. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

Lori pauses and then spills. “Rick needs a suit. I keep _trying_ to get him to shop with me, but he’s worse than Carl about these kinds of things. I can barely keep his damn toes covered what with the amount of holes he lets get in his socks. He keeps _insisting_ on using his old suit--from high school, Daryl--and I’m not going to let that go. And...well...the wedding is coming up soon. And I have a lot of errands to run and I was thinking it might be better anyway…” She sighs loudly on the other end. “Would you mind dressing my husband?”

Daryl chokes on his own spit and then has a coughing fit so violent that Lori asks if she needs to call 911. “No,” Daryl grates out and his throat closes again, but with a few more well placed coughs, he calms down. “I’m okay,” he finally says and then pauses. “ _Dress_ him?”

“You were _so good_ at picking out my colors,” Lori says, her voice dripping like honey.

Daryl swallows at the thought of Rick in a dressing room, Rick in a tux, Rick naked two feet from him. But what’s he going to say? “Sure,” he hears his voice squeak out and then Lori is thanking him profusely and hanging up the phone.

***

When Lori said “you’re going shopping with Daryl,” Rick had thought sometime in the near future, in that vague kind of “we’ll get around to it” way. But no. Apparently Lori had not only meant _today_ , but _right now_ as Rick finds himself locked out of his own house and waiting for Daryl to show up in his driveway. Also, he thinks to himself, he was offended about that sock comment.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long. Daryl pulls into the driveway in his light blue, beaten down truck and hangs his arm out the window as he waits for Rick to climb in. Rick _wants_ to be grumpy about it, to snap about how apparently Daryl is Lori’s lapdog now and _no, he doesn’t need new clothes_ , but all of the venom that’s dripping off his skin suddenly evaporates as easily as water under the summer sun when Daryl smiles at him with an almost giddy expression on his face.

“Hey, Rick,” he says, “been awhile.”

  
Rick feels his body as light as air and alarm bells go off in his head about what that must mean that his wife doesn’t give him this kind of light and sunshiney feeling radiating throughout his body like warmth, but _Daryl_ does. Rick suppresses that thought quickly, though, because he doesn’t have nearly enough brain power right now to process it. Instead he smiles at Daryl and says, “Alright, fine. Let’s go get me a damn _suit_.”

Daryl chuckles. “Why do you hate this so much? You practically wear a suit at work.”

“Nu huh,” Rick argues and waves a finger at him. “Belt, yes. Button shirt, yes. Dress pants, yes. But not a tie. That’s the shitty part about this. I _hate_ ties. I always feel like I’m choking.”

Daryl rolls his eyes and puts the truck in reverse. “Maybe you tie ‘em too tight.”

“If by that you mean I tie them so that they’re still on my neck, then yes. I tie them too tight.” Rick looks out the window at the passing scenery as they make their way to the mall. “Why’d you agree to this anyway? What did Lori bribe you with?”

Daryl snorts. “Time with you,” he says and then sucks in a hard breath as if he could somehow pull the words back into his mouth. Rick swivels his head and blinks at Daryl.

“Aw, Shorty,” he says in his best Shane impression voice and Daryl gives him a glare that could have turned the ice age into the Sahara desert.

“No fuckin’ way,” he tells Rick, “that I’m letting you call me ‘Shorty.’”

Rick laughs. “Why the fuck do you let _Shane_ call you Shorty?”

“I don’t,” Daryl says. “Fucker doesn’t listen, though.”

“Well, then,” Rick says, only mildly aware that his arm is slung up over the back of the middle seat, his fingers mere inches from Daryl and his body leaning over into Daryl’s space, “what am I supposed to call you?”

Rick watches in awe as a tiny pink blush lights up Daryl’s jawline and ear tips. “Uh, Daryl?” he says and then smiles. “It’s my name.”

“Well, _Daryl_ ,” Rick says, the voice heavy and sweet on his tongue like good old southern molasses, “I’m honored that you want to spend time with me.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “Great,” he says to the road in front of him, his manly voice at contrast with his pink cheeks, “how are we going to get your head through the doors?”

***

Daryl watches as Rick takes three minutes of a spin through the store before saying “nope,” and beelining for the exit. As Rick tries to move past him, Daryl reaches out and catches him across the stomach, feels the little grunt Rick makes as he comes into contact with Daryl’s arm radiate up and through Daryl’s nerve endings.

“Hell no,” Daryl tells him, his hand warm where it’s touching Rick’s side, “pick something and try it on.”

“But I don’t _want to_ ,” Rick says and Daryl arches an eyebrow.

“ _Pick something_ ,” he says and Rick grumbles and flies to a clearing rack, picking up a suit and spending just enough time looking at it to make sure it’s his size before bolting for the dressing room.

Daryl figures he has about 100 seconds so he grab another suit quickly and sure enough, at second number 99, Rick tries to walk out of the stall with his own clothes back on before he gets hit in the face with the top half of a pinstripe attire. “Nuh huh,” Daryl tells him.

Rick makes a face and looks down at the jacket. “ _Pinstripe_?” he asks.

Daryl shrugs and makes a wide stance in front of the door, crossing his arms across his chest. “If you wanted something nicer, you should have picked it out for yourself,” he says and nods to the stall. Rick rolls his eyes and heads back in, calling through the door that he looks like a 50s gangster, asking Daryl if they have fedoras in the store, and making snide little comments about _suspenders_ until Daryl throws open the door, ignoring Rick’s little squeak of protest just so he can get a good look.

Rick’s hair is an absolute birdsnest what with the way he’s been flinging clothes left and right and it’s started to coalesce into little groupings of even more curls that stand up and out at odd angles. His eyes are wide and so blue that Daryl would swear they were photoshopped if this wasn’t, you know, real life and the suit he has on is too big, too stripey, and too long for his body. Daryl snorts out a laughter and when Rick looks pissed about it, Daryl just belts out a real and _true_ laugh and then he loses it and Rick smacks his shoulder for good measure, but that doesn’t stop the rumbling chuckles that are coming from deep within Daryl’s chest. “You look like a boy who got into daddy’s clothes,” he tells Rick and Rick just spits out, “fuck you,” fighting off a smile the entire time and shoving Daryl out the door so he can change. Daryl doesn’t let himself feel _too_ disappointed by that last bit, considering that he’s here only on the orders of Rick’s wife and waits patiently for Rick to re-emerge.

Rick looks sheepishly around the dressing area before biting his lip. “...think I’m ready to look at suits, now,” he says to Daryl.

Daryl smiles and nods, taking a step out of Rick’s way. He tells Rick the color of Lori’s dress so he can be complementary and Rick wanders through the racks for real this time and chooses three suits that look to the appropriate size, fit, and length--a blue, a black, and a tan. Personally, Daryl thinks that all those colors are fucked in comparison to Lori’s getup, but he’s not going to push his luck on the “gay man has good clothing taste” front just in case his talent only works with dresses and not suits.

The black makes Rick look about sixty, the tan makes him look about twelve, and the blue with Lori’s dress would be way too _‘Merica_ , so Daryl nixes all three within two seconds of scanning up and down Rick’s body. In exasperation, Rick asks “Well, what would _you_ pick?” giving Daryl just the excuse he needs.

Daryl spends thirty minutes sifting through the store with Rick following him around like a little puppy and in the end he chooses one--just _one_ \--that he is so very certain is _it_. Rick picks up the sleeve skeptically and looks down at the dark brown, almost tweed, fashion of the suit. “Really?” he asks Daryl and Daryl just points to the stall, getting comfortable in the seat in front of it while he waits for Rick. Rick takes a lot longer than 99 seconds this time.

“Okay in there?” Daryl asks.

“...this is tweed, Daryl,” Rick says.

“It’s not. Wrong fabric,” Daryl tells him before wondering if maybe _he’s_ wrong and that _is_ tweed. He makes a mental note to spend time with Google this weekend looking up fashion terminology if he’s going to become the so-called expert.

Rick sighs so loudly Daryl can hear him through the door. “Coming out. Don’t laugh.”

Daryl snorts. “Okay. Not laughing.”

Rick opens the door and Daryl blinks, but no, Rick is still in front of him in _the_ most form-fitting, most tailored, most incredibly utterly complementary to his skintone and eyes suit that Daryl thinks he’ll ever lay eyes on. The suit itself is dark brown and looks just as soft and warm as Lori’s hair and eyes had in the dress and the vest Rick has on underneath it is a red that would compliment Lori nicely. But complimenting Rick’s wife is not what sets Daryl’s heart to beating fast and wild in his chest like a bronco.

No, it’s Rick’s eyes, wide and open, honest and waiting for Daryl’s approval. Rick is fidgeting in place, but he’s not losing eye contact with Daryl and Daryl’s mouth is dry, his palms are sweaty, his knee is jittering at a million miles an hour. Rick looks like sex on a stick, but more than that, he looks _intimate_ , like what’s transpiring here in this dressing room has nothing at all to do with Lori or Shane or the salesman outside or anything else that goes on in this crazy world while it spins. For a moment everything in Daryl’s life tumbles down to tunnel vision and at the end of the long stretch of the channel is Rick waiting for him in full blown tweedy technicolor. Daryl swallows.

“...said don’t laugh,” Rick says softly and Daryl shakes his head slowly.

“Not laughing,” he says quietly and stands slowly. “Um...be right back.”

Rick blinks. “Okay,” he says and turns to the dressing room.

Daryl reaches out to stop him, but falls just short of his hand. “Don’t take it off.”

Rick nods extra slow and Daryl makes a run for the tie section, picking up a nice brown and red striped tie and hightailing it back to where Rick is standing awkwardly by the mirror, turning this way and that to examine himself. “Here,” Daryl says and turns Rick around, loops the tie through his collar.

Rick blushes and dips his head a little while Daryl works, but then right as Daryl finishes, Rick glances up at him and something in Daryl shifts rapidly like the start of an earthquake. They’re close, _too fucking close_ , Daryl’s mind tells him and Daryl is only aware that his gaze is on Rick’s lips when he licks his own. _Fuck_ , he tells himself, _step back_ , but Rick is there with those wide eyes and thoughts are bursting in Daryl’s head like wildfire bombs-- _Rick and Lori aren’t happy, Shane and I aren’t happy, Lori wants to divorce him, he deserves better, I deserve better_.

Daryl’s hands are on Rick’s collar, so very close and Daryl moves his right fingers just an inch, but it might as well be flying them to China what with the distance he’s crossing. They land softly on Rick’s jawline and Rick takes in a quick little breath that Daryl wants to swallow down into his own lungs. His body starts to move and for a moment he’s not sure which direction he’s headed in, but then...it’s back. He takes a step back. “...there you go,” he says lamely, gesturing to the tie and Rick blinks several times, as if coming back to himself.

“Huh,” he says and his voice sounds equally flat and disappointed, or maybe that’s just Daryl hoping. “Doesn’t even feel like it’s choking me,” Rick tells him.

Daryl furrows his brow for a moment before remembering the conversation in the car and chuckles out an “Oh! See? Told you you were tying them too tight.”

Daryl smiles at Rick, strained, and Rick smiles back. And then it’s the longest walk ever to the cashier and an even longer drive home, Daryl’s fingers itching on the steering wheel to touch the person he thinks he’s wanted most in his whole entire life, who just happens to be eleven inches and two relationships away.


	12. If Only We Could

Daryl breaks up with Shane.

The decision is made from a combination of Rick in the dressing room and Shane’s piss-poor attitude the day after when they go out clubbing and Shane spits homophobic slurs at him like he always does.

This time, it’s two dozen roses and blue vases and Merle doesn’t act so surprised to see them, instead putting water in the vases and sitting them on the counter next to the toaster and the pile of dirty mags he keeps for “easy access.” This time, it’s not 6:28, but 6:17, and Shane shows up with his big puppy dog eyes, holding the necklace in his hand again, lifting it to the light for Daryl to see.

And this time, Daryl doesn’t fight him so hard. He’s just tired. He does let Shane in, though, and watches as Shane helps himself to one of Merle’s beers and falls down on the couch like Daryl opening the front door was opening the relationship back up again. Daryl doesn’t know. Maybe it was.

He falls on the couch right beside Shane and _knows_ that he has to say something, but nothing quite comes to him. Shane turns on the weather channel and gets lost in the talk of hurricanes in the Caribbean and it’s twenty minutes before Daryl asks softly, “Do you love me?”

Shane whips his head over to him and presses the power button so fast Daryl will probably need a new remote. “What?” he says.

“Do you...do you love me?” Daryl asks, _really_ asking, really, truly wanting to know.

Shane blinks at him and sets the beer on the endtable. Seconds start ticking by in Daryl’s head despite the fact that he tells himself not to count. Shane sighs and puts his fingers in his hair. “Yeah,” he says, and swallows, turning to Daryl. “Yeah.”

_Seven_ , Daryl’s treacherous mind tells him.

Daryl blinks. “It’s okay if you don’t,” he says. “I-if we should stop this.”

“Hey, now, Shorty,” Shane says and claps his shoulder like they’re _friends_ and not lovers. “Gave ya roses, didn’t I?” Shane picks up his beer again.

“Do you love me?” Daryl asks again. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Sev--_

“Yeah. Stop asking.”

“Say it.”

Shane furrows his brow and frowns. “Fuck. _Fuck_ , man. You know this shit is hard for me. I love you. Okay? I do. I don’t want to lose you. So put on the damn necklace and let’s have a good fuck and go watch somethin’, okay? Take you wherever you want to go. Just…” Shane shakes his head and for a moment, he looks as tired and lost as Daryl feels. He sighs and closes his eyes, swallows hard, and looks at Daryl with more attentiveness than he’s given in months. “I’m trying. I swear to God, Daryl, I’m trying. I...you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Ain’t been no one else before that makes me feel like you do. So...so please? _Please_ , can we just forget about what I said last night?”

Daryl blinks and chokes down irrational laughter in his throat. _What Shane said last night_. As if that was the issue. As if that was what mattered. Daryl closes his own eyes and has a striking moment of clarity--he’s pulling away. He’s pulling so far away from Shane. And how can he expect Shane to connect with him, to love him and support him, if half of Daryl’s thoughts have been given to someone else? Someone else who is straight, married, and probably as uninterested in Daryl as he is in a pile of dirt. Daryl’s nothing to Rick. Just a guy. Just a _friend_. And here Daryl is throwing away his happy ending for him. No. No, something is wrong, that much is right. But it’s not Shane. They need work, but they’ll make it. They will. What Daryl needs to cut out of his life, what he needs to stop investing in, is a relationship that’s just smoke and mirrors, that will never really happen.

He nods at Shane slowly and leans into him until Shane wraps his arm around Daryl’s shoulder. “I love you, too,” Daryl says and he thinks he’ll work on making that sound less hollow.

***

Rick is attracted to Daryl.

These revelations should come on slowly, like the budding of spring or how the frost touches the ground in winter. Rick should have spent months with this guy, learning his habits and his movements, observing how he baits a fishing pole, how he drives his truck, how he ties a tie. Rick has seen all of those things and he guesses that maybe this has been going on for longer that he really well and truly realized, but the moment of clarity, the moment of _understanding_ happened in a flash, in one big, wide, and powerful earthquake that knocked Rick to his feet and left him prone and helpless, vulnerable and exposed.

Rick doesn’t see Daryl again for days after shopping, but he sees Daryl’s body in his mind’s eye every night, he sees Daryl’s image crystal clear in front of him. Rick closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of Daryl’s cologne and the after hint of the sun and outdoor work. He stills his body and feels Daryl’s fingers sliding against his skin, burning hot like coals, touching him with a power that doesn’t just make his pulse race faster, but jumpstarts it.

Rick has never been attracted to a man, but he’s melting for this one. And more than that, he’s realized with a clarity that’s brighter than a sky without clouds that Daryl fits every billing for what he wants in a partner, every nook and cranny of what Rick wishes that Lori was.

Rick’s mind is in turmoil, his body is vibrating with change, and his heart is a cascading waterfall of crashing emotion. He needs help and he knows it.

So Rick books an appointment at Dr. Tanner’s office without Lori and takes the day off work without telling anyone. This isn’t a discussion for anyone but him. And God, does he need it.

***

Dr. Tanner sits back in his chair and eyes Rick with a smile on his face, but curiosity in his eyes. Rick sits across from him rubbing his palms together back and forth for something to do and wondering how in the hell this conversation will even _start_. He’s leaning forward in the chair, obviously freaked out and nervous and he knows it.

“So Rick,” Dr. Tanner starts and Rick jumps, “tell me why you wanted an individual appointment. I don’t remember us ever having one before.”

Rick grunts. “No. We haven’t. I, um...I had some stuff come up that I’m kind of...well, it’s confusing me and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Dr. Tanner nods. “Alright. Tell me the situation.”

Rick is quiet, continuing to rub his hands together, intertwining his fingers and then detangling them only to combine them again. “You won’t tell Lori, right?”

Dr. Tanner smiles. “This conversation is only between us.”

Rick nods. “Good,” he says and feels the need to repeat. “Good. Um...I’m attracted to someone else.”

Dr. Tanner nods, seeming in no way surprised. “Alright. Tell me about that.”

“I, um…” Rick swallows. “It’s freaking me out.”

“Why?” Dr. Tanner asks. “It’s perfectly natural to be attracted to others, even if you are in a monogamous relationship.”

“Yes, but…” Rick stills his hands and then leans back in his chair, puts his palms on his knees so he can dig the nails in and not fidget. He’s thinking it, he’s been thinking it for days-- _gay, homosexual, alternative lifestyle_ \--but it’s so much harder to actually voice than to think. He has a flash of Shane, Shane who is having such a hard time with this same issue. Shane who treats Daryl poorly because of it. Rick remembers what he told Daryl, about how if it was him, he would be braver. So he has to be brave now. “...this time it’s a guy,” he tells Dr. Tanner.

“A guy?” Dr. Tanner asks in question and this time he _does_ show a bit of surprise.

Rick nods. “Yeah. Um...another man. That I’m attracted to.”

Dr. Tanner blinks just once and that’s all the loss of composure that Rick sees. “And has this happened before?”

“Being attracted to a guy?” Rick shakes his head. “ _No_ ,” he says, definitively.

Dr. Tanner clears his throat. “Well, Rick, I can assure you that you’re not alone. There are plenty of people in the world who struggle with their sexuality at varying points in their lives. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Rick sucks in a small breath through his nose and lets it out, trying to calm the rapid thud of his heart against his ribcage. “I...I don’t know. How to talk about it.”

“Okay. Well, would it help if I asked you some questions to get you started?”

Rick nods quickly and so Dr. Tanner takes a minute to pick up a notepad and jot a couple of lines down before starting. “So this has never happened before?”

Rick shakes his head. “Never.”

“Not even just a passing fancy? Maybe in high school or college?”

Rick shakes his head venomously again. “No. Never. I’ve always been attracted to girls. It was always Lori.”

Dr. Tanner nods. “And this man...what’s his name?”

“Daryl,” Rick says, completely aware of how his voice drops into a softer register as the word leaves his lips.

Dr. Tanner hmms to himself. “The same Daryl that’s dating your friend?”

Rick swallows. “Yeah. He’s dating Shane. He’s...he’s nice, you know? We’re friends. We’ve become close in the last couple of weeks.”

“Is that how long you’ve known him?”

“Yeah. So not that long.” Rick sighs. “We went on the double date. We told you about that. And then we went fishing and...and...suit shopping.”

“What’s he like?”

Rick shakes his head and then pauses, his nails digging marks into his knee through his pants. How could he even describe Daryl and do him justice? Suddenly, it’s very important that Dr. Tanner _understands_ , that someone else in the world knows what Rick is feeling, how part of him has flipped on like a light-switch that’s laid dormant for so many months that spiders have made webs across it. “I feel like I’m in my body again,” he says, even though that’s not an answer to Dr. Tanner’s question. “He makes me feel...alive.” Rick reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He feels his courage breaking and shattering, but he takes a minute to pick up the pieces to continue. “I don’t...I said last time, you remember? What I said? About human connection?”

Dr. Tanner nods. “Yes. You said you wanted to connect with Lori. You told me the last time you had connected with her. At a beach.”

“I lied.” Rick laughs hollowly. “Dr...Dr. Tanner, I lied. I didn’t feel anything with her. _Nothing_.” Rick gestures and leaves his hand up in mid-air before dropping it uselessly on the couch. “I haven’t felt like I’ve connected with anyone in years. I feel listless. Broken and empty. Sometimes I don’t even feel like myself. I just see this body moving around, living someone else’s life. It’s not me. None of this is me and I’m just so lost.” He pauses. “But Daryl.” He takes a deep breath. “I connect with him. I...that’s why I was talking about it so much last time. We had the double date, you know, and afterwards...Jesus. Lori got mad at me and she left me and Daryl and I...we went to this boat dock. In the middle of the night. And just talked about things. And _I_ talked about things. It was easy for me, with him. To just tell him how I was feeling and there...I felt real, you know? Like, I could feel the water on my feet and the concrete where I was sitting and I heard the way he was breathing and it was so real. So... _right_. I didn’t realize it until now, but it was. It was right. And then...the suit shopping thing. We went and there was a moment. This...moment. I swear to god, I thought he was going to kiss me. And I didn’t panic about it. I didn’t. I wanted it. I wanted that. Because it was him, you know? And because he knew me.”

“He’s what you want?”

“Yes. Yes!”

“How so?”

Rick thinks. “We went fishing. And we sat on the bank for hours. And we didn’t say anything to each other because we didn’t have to. Lori is...it’s just this constant battle of _talking_ and we never understand what each other says. But with Daryl...I understand everything. He makes me laugh. He makes me smile. He makes me feel better. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe, but things are just great. We just click.”

Dr. Tanner nods and then sighs just slightly. “Rick, tell me about Daryl and Shane’s relationship. Just what you’ve seen. What you’ve picked up on. How would you describe it?”

Rick frowns and sets his jaw. “Shane is a dick to him.”

“Alright. How so?”

“Daryl is this...this perfect guy, you know? And Shane doesn’t appreciate him. He left him at a music concert thirty miles from his home without any way to get back. He calls him a fag all the time. Hell, I didn’t even know Daryl existed until a few weeks ago because Shane is so tight-lipped about their relationship. They have ups and downs all the time. They break up and then get back together. I don’t think Shane is good for him.”

“And you think the two of you would be?”

Rick nods. “Yes. Yes, we would. What should I do? Should I...should I divorce Lori? Should I tell Daryl? Should I try to forget about all of it? What if I am gay? How do I know?”

“Rick, let’s just take a deep breath.” Dr. Tanner moves his hand to indicate an inhale and an exhale. Rick does it with him and nods just slightly. “This is obviously a very complicated situation and what I want you to take _most_ out of this session is this one piece of advice: don’t do anything rash right now. Alright? We need to think about these things. Everything that you’re telling me, all those decisions, are yours to make. Not mine. I can’t tell you one way or another. What I can, say, though, are things that I see that could be happening. This man you’ve met _could_ be someone who you truly connect with. You could be gay and this could just be yourself realizing it for the first time. Sexuality is very complex and all of the terms surrounding it are as well. It might be prudent to do a little research and to undergo some soul searching. You could be straight or gay, but you could also be bisexual. You could also be homoromantic, but not homosexual, perhaps pansexual, perhaps a variety of other terms. Sometimes, it helps people to research all the titles of sexuality to help them find an identity within themselves. But if all of the terminology stresses you out, then don’t worry about that. Focus on your feelings. Does this truly feel romantic? Does it feel like an honest connection? Does it feel reciprocated? Or does this feel like an obsession? Or does it feel like avoidance? Are you looking at another person’s romantic partner as a fill-in for your own damaged relationship? Is it easier to put Daryl on a pedestal as the perfect romantic candidate so you can avoid the work that you have to do in your own relationship? Are you really attracted to this man or are you only hoping that there is someone out there that is perfect, your proverbial ‘one’?”

Rick swallows hard. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Dr. Tanner shrugs. “I don’t know. Only you can tell me what’s going on in your head and your heart. Only you know how true your feelings are. But, Rick?”

Rick blinks. “Hmm?”

Dr. Tanner leans forward. “In all of the time that I have spent with you and Lori, in all of our sessions...this is the first time that I’ve felt that you are really opening up. The first time I felt like I got to know you at all. I don’t know what’s going on right now in your life, what kind of change you’re undergoing, but I would say let it happen. Embrace life. Spend some time really getting to know yourself again, especially if you feel like you haven’t been living your own life. But don’t make any quick decisions. Not unless you’re 100% sure it’s the right one. Who knows if you’ll still be feeling this way in a week, a month, a year. Why don’t you for now take some time to center yourself and we can meet next week and discuss if these feelings are still adamant. How does that sound?”

Rick nods. A week. He can do that. He can think about this--can think about _Daryl_ \--for a week. But the real question is can he think about Daryl and not _act_ on these feelings that surround Daryl like clouds clinging to the tops of mountains, like a heavy fog of comfort, kinship, and immediacy, the swirling light particles of attraction and desire?

***

Daryl rings the doorbell three times in quick succession because he can’t be a pussy about this. He has to do this right the fuck now, while he still has the courage to squeak out the words he wants to say.

Lori answers the door, drying her hands on a towel, and arches an eyebrow at him. “Hi, Daryl,” she says, “Rick is at work.”

Daryl nods. “Yep. I know. Wanted to talk to you. Carl out? Good.” He brushes past her into the living room, but instead of sitting down, he starts pacing like an angry tiger in a cage. Lori blinks and gives him a concerned look, but tosses her towel on the kitchen counter and comes back into the living room with her arms crossed.

“Shane again?”

Daryl laughs, the sound dull like the resonance of a broken drum. “No, not about Shane. Um...about Rick.” _Say it, you fucking pansy,_ he thinks to himself.

Lori screws up her brow in concentration. “Rick? What about Rick?”

_Like him,_ Daryl thinks. _Say it. SAY it, you coward._ _I want to fuck him. I want to lick into his lips. I want to hear what he sounds like when he moans. I want him to throw me over a table and have me like I’m a fucking chocolate-layered gourmet cake made only for him. And then I want to cuddle. God, I AM_ _a fag_. “...got a thing,” Daryl says and picks up his pacing, not meeting Lori’s eyes, but instead examining the floor under his boots, “for him. Got a thing for him.”

Daryl casts a quick glance at Lori and sees her blink, but takes in how her stance has not gotten any more rigid, how her nails aren’t digging in to her arms, how her expression looks bemused and curious instead of angry. “Are you...do you mean you have a crush on my husband?”

“It’s those fucking eyes,” Daryl says, practically jogging across the living room floor. “They should be illegal. And the curls. I hate myself. Okay? Just so you know, I hate myself. And he doesn’t know. At least, I think he doesn’t know. God, what if he knows? No, he doesn’t. I’m good at hiding it. But he’s just so goddamn...no. He’s not. I hate him. Right? I shouldn’t like him. You’re his _wife_.”

Lori reaches out as Daryl paces close to her and grabs his arm to still him. “Daryl, honey. Sit down. You’re going to give yourself a heart-attack.”

Daryl blinks at her. “You don’t want to punch me?”

Lori laughs. “For thinking my husband is hot? I can understand that. Used to be head over heels for him myself, didn’t I?” She frowns and then purses her lips. “I mean, I still am.” She sighs. “If you’re telling me this, you didn’t do anything about your feelings. Right? Isn’t that what you said to me about Theodore? Everyone looks.”

Daryl nods just once, a quick clip of his head. “Guess so. I’m not going to do anything. I’m _not_. I wouldn’t. To you or Shane.”

“I know,” Lori says. “You’re a good man.”

“I just needed you to know. It was eating me up inside. I haven’t been myself for two weeks, you know? Rick is just...he’s blinding. I can’t concentrate on Shane. I can’t concentrate on anything.”

Lori frowns. “Then maybe you need to spend some time apart?”

Daryl’s eyes widen and his heart sinks at the thought. His skin breaks out in a panicked sweat and he has a visceral reaction to yell “no” right into her face. But his brain thwaps the rest of him down and he tells himself firmly that yes, she’s right. He needs to stay away from Rick. For good. He nods firmly. “Yes,” he tells her. “That’s what I’m going to do. I won’t see him anymore. You’ll cover for me, right? Just tell him I’m busy at work or something. Okay? Until I can get myself under _control_.”

Lori studies his face, but then nods. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” Daryl assures her, trying not to think about how his world is upside down and where the sun should be rising, it’s threatening to set and cast him into darkness. “Yes, that’s what I want.”


	13. False Identities and Real Feelings

Daryl’s newfound resolution to stay away from Rick lasts all of 48 hours, which, granted, would have been longer if Daryl’s phone hadn’t been ringing off the hook, flashing Rick’s number from sun-up to sun-down.

At first, Daryl assumes that it must be because Lori had told Rick about the _thing which should not be spoken of_ and Rick wants to call Daryl to talk it all out, which is not at all something that Daryl is inclined to do. But the more Daryl thinks about it, the more he realizes that he can’t imagine Lori telling Rick his secrets and even if Rick knew, his reaction wouldn’t be to _talk_ , but to avoid it exactly like what’s Daryl’s doing. So the calling must be something else. Maybe Rick is just calling him to chat? But then, he wonders, what is something’s _wrong_ and he should answer? After all, Rick is his friend and he only told Lori that he would stop _seeing_ Rick, so phone calls don’t count. Right? Daryl is so up shit creek.

“Hey, Rick,” Daryl answers, mentally batting away the butterflies trying to swarm his stomach.

“Daryl!” Rick says cheerily and his voice sends little lightning bolts of joy ripping through Daryl’s veins.

“So, uh, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” Rick says, the smile in his voice evident all the way across town. “I just wanted to check and see if you were okay. I haven’t heard from you in a while and I kind of miss you.”

“Oh,” Daryl says and clears his throat. “I’m fine. Peachy.”

“How’s Shane?”

“Uh, fine? Didn’t you see him this morning?”

“Yeah,” Rick agrees, “But you never know with him. And he said you guys were fighting again.”

“What’s new, right?” Daryl concedes and sighs. “Shane is a tool.”

Rick laughs into the phone, the electronic muffle taking some of the magic out of the sound, but still leaving Daryl shivering. “Sure. What’d he do now?”

Daryl scoffs. “I think that’s the phrase most used when talking about Shane. So there’s this band. Local. The Alexandrians. And I haven’t been to see them in a year or so and I would really like to go. They’re playing Saturday.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Daryl bites his lip. “Well...they’re playing at a gay bar.”

“Oh,” Rick says, “OH.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t think it was so bad for _gay guys_ to know you’re a _gay guy_ , but Shane is treating this like I’m asking him to wear hot pants and a rainbow boa.”

“So there’s no convincing him, huh?”

Daryl shakes his head even though Rick can’t see. “Even offered him a face fuck. But he told me there was no way that he was stepping foot in one of those ‘prissy ball clubs.’”

“Why don’t you go by yourself?”

Daryl makes a noncommittal grunt. “Are you kidding me? No way. It’s going to be about eighty percent of the town’s gay community _drunk_ and I’m sure if I don’t show up with someone in tow, I’m going to be hit on so hard, I might as well be a baseball going for the home run.” He pauses. “Um, that sounded egotistical. What I MEANT was that anyone who’s gay is going to be hit on. Drunk people, right?”

Rick laughs. “Well, for the record, I think you’d get far more pickups than the average guy.” There’s a pause where Daryl tries to process how much of that is Rick being a friend and how much of that is Rick finding him to be attractive in an abstract kind of way, until Rick says, “Um, but anyway...if you have to go with someone, I could go with you.”

Daryl blinks. “What?”

“I could go with you. If you want.”

“You would go with me to a _gay bar_?”

“Yeah, if you want.” Rick pauses and then his voice drops down low and even through the phone, it goes straight to Daryl’s cock. “I could be your pretend boyfriend if you wanted me to.”

Daryl chokes on the air he’s currently trying to pull into his lungs. “What?”

“I mean if that would help. I could be the jealous guy. You know, dance with you, sit next to you at the bar, drop a couple, ‘hey, baby, don’t you love me’s. What do you think?”

Daryl’s brain short-circuits at hearing the word “baby’ in Rick’s voice directed at him, but luckily, he’s always been good at faking confidence, so he grunts and hears himself say, “Sure. That would work,” without even any squeaking. His consciousness taps him on the shoulder and tells him that this is a worse idea than World War I, than the Trojans accepting the gift of a wooden horse, than _Friends_ trying to do a Joey spinoff. This can only end in tears.

But Rick just said he would _dance_ with him.

“Great!” Rick says. “So, what? You can pick me up at six or so?”

Daryl clears his throat. “Band starts at eight. So seven?”

“Awesome,” Rick says and Daryl can _hear_ the smile in his voice. “See you then, _baby_.”

***

It’s not a date. Rick tells himself it’s not a date. It’s a fake date, but not a _real_ date because Daryl Dixon is taken and would never date Rick and oh, yeah, Rick is married which makes it not a date. But Rick has that funny little flopping sensation going on in his stomach that sure _feels_ like a date and he’s rifling through his closet wishing that he owned something nicer and more form fitting to his abs like a date and he’s pacing around the living room twitching like a nervous bird...like a date.

Rick figures it’s probably easier to give up the ghost right now and call it a date. Wouldn’t Dr. Tanner be proud of him? For once, he’s going to forget about Lori and his crumbling marriage, about his idiotic best friend, and about how he’s just been floating through his life for months. He’s going to enjoy this. He’s going to enjoy a band at a gay bar with Daryl Dixon, damnit, and if Rick is a little inclined tonight to veer to the more flirty side of things, that’s fine. He’s going to treat this as a gay trial run. See if he likes it--going to a bar with a guy, talking low and sexy with a guy, dancing with a guy, hell, maybe even kissing a--no. Rick needs to stop thinking like that. Show and tell all you want, but no trying the merchandise. For Shane and Lori, fuck them. Even though he desperately, _desperately_ wants it.

Daryl knocks on his door at precisely seven and Rick opens it after making himself wait three seconds so Daryl won’t know he’s been gazing out the peephole waiting for just this moment. And when the door clears and Rick can actually see him, he has to wait three extra seconds just for his lungs to remember how to work. Because standing there, in all his glory, is Daryl in his _going out outfit_ \--leather jacket, fine fitting jeans, band T-shirt, and tossed up hair all to boot and Rick blinks. If this is what being gay is like, sign him up. Because he thinks he’s drooling.

“Hi,” Rick says and then tries it again, sounding a little less like a wounded alley cat. “Hi, Daryl.”

Daryl smiles at him, eyes sparkling in the shadow of Rick’s porchlight. “Hi, yourself.”

Rick is caught like a kid in a candy store and can’t help but smile back. “Ready? Dug my hot pants out and everything.”

Daryl blinks and his gaze snaps so fast down to Rick’s legs that Rick wonders if eyes can get whiplash. He laughs. “I didn’t _actually_ put on hot pants.”

Daryl blushes and shakes his head so his hair covers part of it. “I know that,” he tells Rick.

Rick bites his lip. “Did put on my nice ass jeans, though.”

Daryl laughs. “We’re going to a gay bar, Rick. You sure you want nice ass jeans?”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Lori won’t let me wear them in polite society. She says I look too hipster. I don’t know. What do you think?” Rick turns around. He’s such a whore.

Daryl sucks in a sharp breath. “Those....those are nice jeans.”

“Right?” Rick says and spins back around toward Daryl. “Okay, you ready, baby?”

Rick watches Daryl blink four times before he swallows and nods. “Yes. Yes! Sorry.” Daryl shakes his head. “Um, to the truck?”

“Unless you feel like walking.” Rick winks at him and heads out the door, letting the little swagger he hasn’t used since high school enter his hips, making his ass clench nice and tight.

***

Daryl swears Rick is doing this on purpose. His smile is a thousand watt lightbulb, his eyes might as well be Daryl’s birthstone, and his hands are like little roaming generals set on a mission to completely eradicate all of Daryl’s good intentions. And don’t even get Daryl _started_ on his ass.

Daryl is fucked. He’s more than fucked. He’s fucked so hard that he no longer has an asshole _to_ be fucked. How is he going to get through this night? And how did Rick Grimes get to be so goddamn pretty?

Daryl slows the truck down at a stoplight and listens to Rick’s laughter over something that Daryl can’t even remember saying. Rick’s smile is wide and free tonight, his body more alive than Daryl has ever seen it and he looks...relaxed. At ease. Daryl’s brain makes a quick comparison between the tension in Shane’s body at the mention of a gay club and Rick who wore his _nice ass jeans._

Daryl suddenly feels like the billionaire with a trophy wife. All the boys at Woody’sare going to be jealous, but it’s all Daryl’s to keep. He smiles to himself.

“You already look like you’re having a good time,” Rick says.

Daryl nods. “Sure, sweetie pie. I’m with you.”

Rick laughs, his white teeth flashing. “So are we going to make this into a game, honey dumplin’?”

“Only if you want to, sugar lips,” Daryl says, making sure to dart out his tongue to give his own lips a good licking. And was that his imagination or did Rick’s pupils get a little bigger?

Rick shakes his head and turns to look out the window. “So tell me what I’m supposed to do. What are fake boyfriend duties?”

Daryl shrugs. “Tell everyone you’re hitting this so that no one else wants to hit this and listen to music. I guess I would prefer it if you didn’t tell me that Aaron and Eric Raleigh suck donkey balls, because I’ve kind of had a thing for both of them since high school. In that, you know, ‘oh my god, look, it’s a band!’ sort of way.”

“Well,” Rick says, “I’ll leave your teen idols alone, then. But tell me about them. The band.”

Daryl tilts his head slightly toward Rick. “Local. Think they’ve gone into Atlanta a few times to gigs and festivals and things, but mostly just play bars around here. The leader singer and the guitarist, Aaron and Eric, are a thing. It’s why they play Woody’s so much. Have four CDs last time I checked. Have ‘em all. But I haven’t got out to see them in awhile. Not since Shane, really.” Daryl shrugs. “He’s not into it, you know. Tried to get him to listen to them, but the second he knew they were gay, he just calls it fairy music. But they’re rock. Nice hard beats.”

Rick nods. “Any other band members?”

“Yep,” Daryl says, “two more. Bassist is Jessie Anderson. Used to have a drummer named Pete that she was dating. Bad breakup, though. Heard it was abuse. Anyway, newest drummer is a kid named Noah. Pretty good, I hear, but I haven’t heard him play.”

“This your favorite band?”

Daryl shrugs. “One of, I guess.”

Rick nods and they sink back into silence as they pass through more stoplights. After a few streets, Rick clears his throat. “Look, um, I wanted to say...about the suit thing…”

Daryl’s skin gets goosebumps and his blood rushes cold. “Rick, you don’t have to--”

“No,” Rick says, “hear me out. Um...I thought for a second...something might be about to happen there. And...I don’t know. I wanted to say I was sorry I guess--”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It’s me---”

“But I’m not freaked out about it.”

Daryl blinks. “You’re not?”

Rick bites his lip. “Uh...no. I, uh, I don’t know. Maybe I was misreading things and if I was, punch me. But if I wasn’t...well, there’s Lori and Shane, so I guess it’s a moot point. But...well, girls aren’t the only thing that gets my engine running.”

Daryl swallows hard and focuses on the double yellow line in front of him. Sound feels a little fuzzy and he’s aware that he has a death grip on the steering wheel and his knuckles are turning white. He goes back over what Rick said three times before his brain finally allows him to think it-- _Rick is bisexual_. Which means there’s a chance...Daryl mentally slaps himself. He has a boyfriend. Rick has a wife. There is absolutely no room for shit like that. “Oh,” he says, intelligently.

Rick is blushing so hard he might as well be an apple cart. “God, I am such a moron. I’m sorry. Can we just forget I _ever_ brought that up?”

Daryl quirks the corner of his mouth up in a smile. “Forgotten.” He clears his throat. “For the record, though…” _Shut up, Daryl Dixon_ , he tells himself. “...weren’t wrong.” He coughs to clear up the awkwardness and pulls into a brick building at the edge of town. “Look! We’re here!”

Daryl jumps out of the car like a red hot poker hit him and lets the cool summer breeze rifle through his hair and filter into his lungs, carrying away his embarrassment, his confusion...and his complete and utterly full bucket of excitement.


	14. And the Bass Keeps Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for TWDObsessive (it's her birthday!) and for all of my other fans that have stuck with me through this fic.

Rick isn’t sure what he expected a gay bar to actually look like, but this is not it. There’s no rainbow attire hardly anywhere and there is a suspicious lack of glitter, chaps, and those biker sleeveless bear shirts that he sees everywhere on TV. Instead, this just looks like an average gathering of people going out on a weekend night, with the noticeable lack (or at least extreme reduction) of women.

To the right of the entrance is a bar lining the front wall of the building, packed full already with patrons. To the left is a section of tables that breaks out into a dance floor in the center of the club, down a series of short steps. And in the back is the stage. Music is currently blaring from a DJ station set up in a corner while the band starts placing its equipment for the start of the show in half an hour.

Daryl and Rick stand just inside the door, Daryl’s hands in his pockets and gaze averted from Rick’s face. Rick fiddles with the hem of his shirt and tells himself not to obsess over what Daryl said in the car, that “you weren’t wrong” could mean anything, despite the fact that it _has_ to mean you weren’t wrong in thinking that I was going to kiss you, because I totally was going to kiss you and Rick’s knees are weak and he needs, but at the same time doesn’t need at all, a big fat glass of alcohol. “Drinks?” Rick asks and Daryl nods and lets out a puff of relief.

“Drinks,” Daryl agrees over the music and they head to the bar. Daryl grabs two shots of tequila for them, despite Rick’s question over whether that’s a good idea and they give a quick toast to friends and outings before throwing the liquor back. It burns all the way down like a righteous fire toasting the heterosexuality out of Rick and he feels just damn _fine_. He smiles at Daryl and squeezes his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, “we’re just having a good time right?”

Daryl nods, but still keeps avoiding his gaze. The music gets louder as a bass-thumping club song comes on and so Rick is forced to lean in closer to Daryl’s ear. “Relax. Let’s just leave all the stupid worrying behind and pretend it’s you and me and nothing else but the club. Okay?”

Daryl scoffs and Rick swears that he says, “That’s what I do all the time,” before clearing his throat and smiling at Rick. “Beer?”

Rick laughs. “You’re trying to get me drunk, aren’t you?”

Daryl shrugs, but then holds up his index finger and thumb, and wrinkles his nose. “A little, maybe.”

Rick shakes his head, but lets Daryl buy him a beer and they sit at the bar, slowly drinking while the band gets set up and starts to play. Once the music begins, they turn around in their seats and Daryl gives Rick the breakdown of band trivia while a brunette with a welcoming face starts belting out the lyrics to “How to Party in Virginia,” which is apparently one of the band’s most popular songs. Daryl leans closer to Rick, but not enough to touch, and goes over what he knows of some of the bar’s most frequent customers--who’s dating who, who’s drunk all the time, who got arrested for assault. Rick laughs and ask him how much he comes here and finds out pretty quickly that it used to be all the time before Shane. Rick studies him in the low-light, how comfortable and relaxed he is in his familiar environment, how much he fits in with the other guys--all Georgia hard knocks with just a different twist to their love lives. He thinks back to the double date, how when he was being introduced to Daryl he thought of all his little quirks and anomalies, the juxtapositions of Mr. Dixon. Rick adds this one to the list.

And then Rick pays his worth as the boyfriend. A blond skinny guy with too much whiskey on his breath stumbles into Daryl and then, as if seeing a target for the first time, changes from tripping-over-his-feet to slow-and-slinky-posturing and goes so far as to put a finger on Daryl’s chest and ask him what his favorite hotel is.

“You’re, like, the hottest,” the blond says and makes a go for it, leaning over Daryl with full intent. Rick reaches over and slaps the guy away, effectively putting his upper body between them as a physical barrier.

“HEY,” Rick practically growls in half-sincerity, “that’s my MAN you’re drooling on.”

Behind him, Rick hears Daryl snicker into his ear, but the blond is too drunk to really notice, so he just waves his hand and stumbles away with wide-eyes and roaming hands. “One,” Daryl says right next to the curve of Rick’s ear and he jumps, followed instantly by a pure aroused shiver. He spins around to Daryl to see the smile planted firmly on his mouth.

“One?” Rick asks, eyes wide and voice breathy.

Daryl chuckles. “One time I’ve been hit on. We’ll start counting.”

Rick blinks. He could make it two _real_ easy. But then he thinks of upping the count, of more drunk and not-drunk guys hitting on Daryl and he can’t stand it. “Hmm,” he says, “let’s dance.” He jumps off the barstool, only swaying a little.

“Dance?” Daryl asks, slowly stepping off his own stool.

Rick grins. “Dance,” he says again and makes a bold, _bold_ move by grabbing Daryl’s hand. “So that _all_ the boys in this damn place know you’re mine.” He holds Daryl’s gaze until Daryl blinks and then Rick turns and starts pulling Daryl into the throng of dancers, the drumline speeding up into a frenzy that matches his nerves just about perfectly.

***

Rick’s hand is warm and firm on Daryl’s skin, their palms pressed together as Rick drags him through the bodies of dancers into the mob. Daryl tries to remember a time when Shane had touched him like this, had led him with physical contact, had even _shown_ him physical contact. But his mind is so very, very tired of comparing Rick to Shane when there is absolutely no comparison to be made, the same as there’s no comparison to be made between a Honda and a jetliner. And besides, it feels wrong and disrespectful to give Shane any kind of his mental attention right now when Rick has spun around to face him and begun to sway in place like a southern bobcat.

Under the club lights, Rick’s eyes look darker, deep spirals of river water threatening to drown Daryl when he’s already out of breath and struggling to survive. Rick starts bending his hips in a way that isn’t expert, but still sends cascades of want up and down Daryl’s body and his smile is sticky fly trap paper that Daryl’s heart has caught itself on.

At some point in time, Daryl’s body has started to move with Rick’s and they sway together to the heavy bass line, the low growling voice of Aaron Raleigh thunder at the edge of the Richard Grimes storm. Daryl longs to touch, to caress, to make their bodies press together and move as if they’re one person. They already are, Daryl realizes, watching the bends and twists of his muscles mirror Rick’s in a kind of dance that’s so very different from anyone around them, a singular frequency separated by only inches of space.

Rick puts his hand in his hair and drags his fingers in and Daryl watches in fascination as his fingers cut through the artfully styled gel and the waves and curls pop loose. Rick smells of sweat and a foresty kind of cologne and Daryl wants to put his mouth on Rick’s skin, taste him like this is the only thing that’s going to keep Daryl living.

Rick winks at him. _Winks_. And then turns around, starts dancing with his back to Daryl and Daryl sees how his shirt has bunched up just slightly, exposing the smallest sliver of skin on his side. Before Daryl can tell himself not to, he’s reached out and his fingers slide against Rick’s back, pull themselves across his side to this stomach. His fingers catch on denim and cotton and the smooth, hard feel of Rick’s abs. He’s unaware of if he’s pulled Rick back or if Rick has stepped back, but his nose is next to Rick’s ear, their shoulders are touching, and Rick makes a rolling motion with his hips that for one _glorious_ second touches Daryl, hard and ready.

Daryl squeezes Rick’s hip and then Rick looks over his shoulder at him. Their eyes tumble together and Daryl is reminded of the double date, of watching Rick walk up with Lori and feeling his body drawn to Rick, their eyes locking in like velcro and magnetic pieces.

Rick turns slowly, his body rotating in the circle of Daryl’s arms. His gaze releases Daryl’s and then snaps around like a camera taking shots--to Daryl’s chest, his neck, his lips, back to his eyes. Rick’s mouth parts and Daryl knows what’s coming, but hasn’t he known since Rick pulled him onto the dance floor? Since they arrived at the club? Since the date started? Since the suit shopping, the fishing, the boat dock, the double date, the very first meeting. _What are you looking at? You._

Rick’s hands are on his neck and his own are on Rick’s sides and there’s no misinterpreting this one. Rick begins to lean in so slow, reaching and Daryl wants to, he wants to, he _wants_ to let Rick finish the movement and it would be so easy. Over just like that. But as their noses slide together, as Rick’s lips are only an inch from Daryl’s, Daryl stills Rick’s movement with a hand on his chest. Rick squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them again, but he doesn’t back up. He holds there, waiting.

Daryl has a flash of the future--of what would happen if he just moved his hand back away. Rick would kiss him. And he would kiss Rick back. They would tangle together, their bodies snapping in like they’ve been wanting them to. Rick’s mouth would be hot and hard, a perfect heaven. His body would be warm and comforting, and tight and sexy. Daryl would take him into the bathroom, _have_ him, and Rick would scream his name and Daryl would scream Rick’s right back and they wouldn’t just fuck, they wouldn’t just have sex. It would be _more_ , more than anything he’s ever had, more than Shane could ever give him…

Shane.

Daryl closes his eyes and then slowly presses Rick backwards. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done and as Rick’s hands come off his body, as Rick steps aside and they lose all contact, Daryl feels a pit in his stomach fill with regret. He looks up into Rick’s eyes, their turbulent undercurrents.

“I’m sorr--”

“Don’t,” Rick whispers, holding up a hand. He drops it uselessly at his side. “Don’t say his name. I just…” Rick closes his eyes and then opens them slowly, reaches for Daryl again. He touches his jaw feather-light and smiles, thin and sad. “I just want to pretend. For one second. That it’s us.”

Daryl sighs and looks at the ground, nods once and then keeps nodding. “Me, too,” he says and swallows down the lump in his throat. “Me, too.”

***

The band has just hit their stride, but Daryl and Rick leave. The mood falls apart pretty quickly after Daryl stops Rick and, to be honest, Daryl is too shaken to stay out in polite society. They walk back to the car with several feet of space between them and despite the fact that Daryl suddenly has a soul-crushing urge to open Rick’s door for him, he lets sleeping dogs lie and crawls in the driver’s side first.

Rick falls into his seat and shuts his door and they drive back to Rick’s house without a word spoken between them. Daryl keeps catching Rick making little sighs and he tries to think of something to say that would make this better, but what would that be? _Hey, Rick, sorry I didn’t kiss you like I really wanted to, but I guess our timing is just sucky_. It all feels like salt on a very big and angry wound that’s way too fresh to bring up.

Daryl parks the car in Rick’s driveway and stares out at the house, dark and asleep even though it’s only nine thirty. Rick lets another sigh go and then opens his door, swings one hip to stand up and then pauses. He turns back to Daryl, but Daryl refuses to meet his eyes, watching Rick only from his peripheral vision. Rick swings his leg back into the car and shuts the door. “Daryl,” he says and the word sounds as loud and harsh as a spewing volcano.

“There’s nothing to say,” Daryl tells him, but Rick shakes his head.

“No, _I_ have something to say. I…” Rick swallows and takes a huge breath. “Listen to me. Please?”

Rick’s voice is soft and begging, his eyes are huge and inviting, and so Daryl looks at him, turns to him, waits for him.

“I…” Rick starts and then tries again. “I’m divorcing Lori. Tomorrow, I’m going to go downtown and find a lawyer. And I’m going to end it.”

“Rick,” Daryl says, “don’t be rash. Alright? Not because of me--”

“It’s not because of you,” Rick says and then bites his lip. “Well, it is. But…I figure that even if nothing happens between us...nothing at all...how can I do this to her? How can I do this to _you_? To myself?” He laughs, a sound void of mirth. “It’s not fair to stay with my wife when I have stronger feelings for someone else. I...I’m not going to say I love you, because it’s too soon. You know? But I could. I could so easily. And if you and Shane are meant to be, if you have to try and make it work with him, if you love him...I’m not going to stand in the way of that. The two of you are my best friends. I want you to be happy.” Rick reaches out ever so slowly and touches Daryl’s cheek, lets his fingers linger there. “I _need_ you to be happy. And I won’t ever make another move again, I swear. Not while you and Shane are together. But...but if you break-up…” Rick smiles slow and intimate. “I’ll be on you like white on rice in a glass of milk on a paper plate in a snowstorm.”

Daryl bites back laughter. “Rick, did you just...quote _Major Payne_ at me?”

Rick chuckles and dips his head. “Not sexy?”

Daryl shakes his head and lets the laughter bubble up and out of his throat. “No, baby,” Daryl hears himself saying, “it’s perfect.”

Rick smiles. “Okay, then. Um...I’m going to go. And I’ll see you around?”

“Rick, I am so sor--”

“Stop it,” Rick says, one hand on the door handle. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’ll see you around, Daryl Dixon.” Rick smiles one more time and opens the door, steps out, and closes it. He waves as he walks to the porch and Daryl sits in the car for a long time after Rick has gone inside, trying to make the hardest decision of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skarlatha tells me that after this, I will be universally reviled, which I take as both a compliment and a warning to hide in a cave until after this story is complete and the UST is resolved.


	15. Words Spoken in the Night

Rick shuts the front door and leans back against it. He lets the darkness of the hallway seep in around him and press up against his skin while just to his right the washed out color of Daryl’s headlights filters in through the living room window and then fades in the distance as Daryl drives away.

His head falls back onto the door with a thump and he squeezes his eyes shut. Daryl. Daryl Dixon. That’s all he’s thinking about and it might be all he’ll ever think about for the rest of his life because he could spend years trying to decipher all of the little bitty nuances in what just happened at the club, let alone come to terms with the big flashing neon sign that reads “RICK GRIMES IS GAY AND HE ALMOST KISSED A GUY.”

He wonders if leaning in and going for it while thinking in the back of his mind that he’s not opposed to being fucked in a club bathroom is considered a “rash decision” and if Dr. Tanner is going to slap his wrist for it. But even if it was reckless, it was _true_. Rick has never felt that something was more right. Being with Daryl--the emotional, the physical, the romantic, all of it--feels _right_. And maybe it’s too soon and too rash, but Rick’s heart is bursting with something that he hasn’t felt in years or possibly has never really felt and it’s beyond what he’s been telling Dr. Tanner. It’s even more than human connection.

Rick lied to Daryl. He lied so hard. It’s not that it could become love, but it’s that it already is--

Rick stops himself. He swallows hard. No, that can’t be what this is. A few weeks is not long enough to fall in love with someone. Is it? Except maybe it is and maybe those weeks weren’t even necessary. Maybe Rick fell in love with Daryl a long time ago, their profiles to the each other as they sat by the river with fishing poles in hand and a mockingbird behind them, their feet in the water at the boat dock and the crushed up Sam Adams cans littered around their knees, Daryl giving Rick that damned drumstick-- _I ain’t picky_ \--and the color of his eyes hotter than any painting.

Rick could spend the rest of his life with that man. If only the universe would let him. He lets out a slow, tiny breath into the living room and checks the clock. 10:23. Shit, he’s been standing here thinking for longer than he realized. He wonders if the middle of the night is the right time to be making these life altering decisions, but he can’t help himself. So he tells himself the truth. He’s bisexual. And he’s romantically and physically attracted to Daryl and even more than that, even more than anything…

He might never get a chance to be with Daryl. Daryl and Shane may stay together for the rest of their lives and then Rick will never get the opportunity to _say_ it. So he’s going to say it now. In the quietness of his house. In the darkness of night. He wants to hear the words out loud, to taste them on his tongue, to roll them around in his mouth, to expel them from his body like they so desperately want to be expelled.

“I love you, Daryl,” he says out loud and then sighs, thumps his head again on the front door. “I love you.”

***

Daryl drives home and with every block he gets away from Rick’s house, his muscles get more and more tight, his nerves more and more frazzled. He hopes that when he gets to his house, Shane is there so that they can talk about this, because Daryl feels an overwhelming urge to get everything out in the open and discuss for once if they really are good for one another.

When Daryl gets there, though, the house is silent. He walks in to find that even Merle is asleep, which is odd, but not unheard of. Daryl takes in a quick glance at the living room. The couch and endtables are covered in beer cans and wadded up tissue and Daryl wrinkles his nose at Merle’s utter inability to clean up after himself even when he was probably jacking it to pay-per-view porn--which Daryl notes that Merle usually _does_ get rid of the evidence for, but whatever. He apparently had a fun night.

Daryl sighs and pulls out his phone, keys up Shane’s number, but then thinks better of it. Maybe the morning is a more appropriate time for “should we break up” conversations and Daryl is mentally exhausted anyway from his emotions being tossed about like table tennis. He groans and then walks into his bedroom, tosses his phone onto the nightstand and face-plants into his pillow. Fuck his life. What is he going to do?

He rolls over and rearranges himself on the bed, kicking off his boots. Shane or Rick. Rick or Shane. He has history with one. He has connection with the other. Rick is nice to him, but Shane needs him. But maybe Rick needs him too?

He closes his eyes and imagines himself with each of them. He thinks back on the good dates with Shane, the few that didn’t end in tears or punches. He thinks of how they fuck, hard and rough and wanting. He thinks of Shane’s brown eyes, huge and desperate when he wants them to be. Daryl thinks of that thing deep within Shane’s heart that he keeps trying to reach, trying to open. Shane letting him in. If he did, it would be good. They would be good. But would Rick be better?

Rick’s eyes in the moonlight of the boat dock. Rick’s hand on his cheek in the car. Rick’s smile flaring up like Daryl has lit up the entire universe and the only thing that exists is that moment between them, the feeling of harmony and being. The fact that he can turn his back to Rick. The fact that Rick talks when he needs him to and doesn’t when he doesn’t. How he touches Daryl so feather soft and doesn’t touch him when he knows Daryl doesn’t need it. How Daryl’s heart keeps skipping beats so frequently that he thinks he’s going to need to check for a heart murmur when Rick walks into the room.

Daryl lets his mind go blank and imagines sleeping in his bed with someone, stirring in the morning to the warm sun filtering in through the blinds and the cold blow of the air conditioner soothing his skin. In his mind, he wakes up, blinks and looks over at the body next to him and staring back are eyes as cool and pure as the Atlantic ocean, blue and vivid like nothing in Daryl’s life has ever been. He would kiss Rick with a kind of softness that’s reserved for no one else. He would love Rick with a fire that could never be put out. He _does_ love Rick with a fire--

Daryl swallows. Shit. He looks over at the clock on the nightstand. 10:23 and even though Daryl goes to bed at this time when he has to work early shifts, he’s wide awake. He loves Rick. He can feel it settling deep in his bones with a certainty that was never there with Shane. So that means it’s over. He and Shane are over. And to cement it, to really truly feel it, to make sure that this time, there will be absolutely no backing out, he says it out loud to the room, practices it and sees in front of him Rick with his beautiful curls, with his adoring smile, with his attentive eyes. “I love you, Rick,” he says and sighs into the darkness. “I love you.”


	16. Surprise, Baby Brother

Daryl wakes up at five in the morning, even though the fitful tossing and turning he’s been doing during the night can’t really be considered “sleep.” Rick has been on his mind. Shane has been on his mind. Hell, Lori has been on his mind, too, amid the background of the African jungle and a mud-covered and angry giraffe and Daryl hates when he does that half-awake, half-dreaming thing. He sighs and sits up, blinking the sleep from his eyes and stares at the overcast sky outside his window. Dreary days are good break-up days, he tells himself, and it’ll be a couple of hours still before Shane heads into work, so if Daryl gets up right now and books it, he can make it over to Shane’s house and get this done before the sun is really shining.

Like a bandaid. Pull it and get it over with.

He jumps out of bed and grabs the first set of clothes he finds, taking only seconds to finger comb his hair down into some kind of order. He throws on his boots and tries hard not to think about what this would be like if he had let Rick finish the kiss last night--how Rick’s skin would be shining under the artificial lights, how he would smile at Daryl, slow and warm. How Daryl wouldn’t ever be able to finish putting his damn clothes on because he would get too distracted by all of the places on Rick where he could put his lips.

But that’s neither here nor there. Because today is not about Rick. Today is about Shane, so that Daryl can close this chapter in his life and so that the rest of his entire existence can just be dedicated to one man with curly hair and eyes the color of Daryl’s soul. Shit, he’s starting to sound like a woman. But he has to get this done.

Shane won’t be able to talk him out of it this time. There’s nothing that he or anyone else can say that would change Daryl’s mind about running full throttle toward Rick. Before, he hadn’t known that Rick was interested. He was sure that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But now that he _knows_ , now that his body and heart are so very aware of how close he and Rick came to being with each other last night, there’s no way in hell that Shane is going to be able to worm his way back in. He and Shane are _over_.

And besides, Daryl knows all too very well that there’s got to be someone better out there for Shane. Someone more his, well, style isn’t really the word, but someone more on his level. Someone that doesn’t mind the occasional slur as much as Daryl does, someone that hates gay parades and clubs just as vehemently, someone that wants to be protected in the way that Shane keeps thinking that Daryl wants to be. So it’s better for everyone involved if Daryl takes his balls into his hand and does the manly thing. He nods and stands afterhis shoddy dressing and grabs his wallet, keys, and phone. This is going to be such a bitch, but if he can make it through this morning, then he can have Rick. He pacifies himself by thinking that this time next week he’ll be in Rick’s arms. And that’s worth it.

He nods to give himself courage and heads out into the living room, planning to make a beeline for the front door and his truck. But as he lifts his head, he notices two things in quick succession--one, he can see through the open window that Shane’s car is parked across the street unoccupied, where Daryl must not have seen it last night in the darkness and two, Merle is already awake and sitting on the couch, fidgeting. His head is downcast, his eyes are wide, and his right foot is jiggling up and down in that nervous tic he has that just all belies guilt. This is Merle, awake at five a.m. when Shane’s car is still parked outside, but surely Daryl’s mind is playing tricks on him, because there’s no way that---

“Shane and I porked last night,” Merle tells him.

Daryl blinks and then barks out a quick laugh before clearing his throat and hoping that if he pretends, this day will just go away. “You and Shane made pork last night?”

Merle frowns and then twists to fully stare at Daryl. “No, we...we porked, man. We did it. You know.” Daryl looks away from Merle’s lewd hand gesture because he has no idea what to do with that information and it’s so very awkward that it’s his brother and his boyfriend, even though the anger and the sadness haven’t hit him yet and honestly might never. “Shit, man,” Merle says, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You fucked him?” Daryl says, his voice awash with a neutrality that belies how numb he feels. 

Merle swallows and then nods. “...yeah. You weren’t here and we...yeah, we fairy fucked.”

Daryl shakes his head and feels his throat clamming up out of a sudden combination of anger, a habitual kind of sadness, and weirdly enough, relief. “He’s in your bedroom, isn’t he?”

Merle grunts and sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “...yeah.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Daryl says and rubs his eyes.

“Look, man, it was just once, okay? We ain’t gonna to do it again. I’m gonna go wake him up and you dudes can talk and it’ll be fine, right? Daryl, tell me it will be fine.”

“It’s not going to be fine, Merle,” Daryl says, his brain flooded with rapid-fire thoughts. What is he going to do? Does he wake Shane up? Does he tell him now? What does he do with Merle? Why can’t it have been simple? But it’s over now. This is a reason, a solid reason. This is proof that they’re not good for one another, that they’ll never be fine. This is Daryl’s _out_ , even though he already has one, even though Rick is enough reason. Rick is enough proof.

“I’ll do anything you want me to,” Merle is saying. “Tell me how to fix it. Anything.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” Daryl hears himself saying and sighs, tosses the items he was carrying to his truck down on the endtable.

“There’s gotta be some way---”

“It’s over, Merle.”

“Don’t let me be the reason you let go of a good guy.”

“A good guy?” Daryl says and shakes his head. “Shane’s not a _good guy_. We’ve been having problems ever since we got together and you know it. And there are other reasons, alright? Shit you don’t know about. When he wakes up, just...tell him he needs to talk to me. We’re going to finish it.”

Merle swallows and sets his jaw. “Shane _is_ a good guy,” he says, his voice low and hard.

“Not to me,” Daryl tells him and turns away, but Merle is grabbing his arm and tossing him down on the couch to force him to sit.

“Now you listen here,” Merle says and Daryl sets his own jaw and wonders how much Merle would fight back if he punched him. “Stop being such a little queen about all this. Shane is trying. You get me? He came here last night looking for you and he and I...we made a mistake, baby brother. We did. And we’re sorry. But don’t take that out on him. You’re going to forgive him, is what you’re going to do. Because he _is_ a good man. He _is_ trying. And this fairy shit is hard for him and you know it--”

“I am _tired_ , Merle,” Daryl says and pushes Merle away so he can stand back up, “of _this fairy shit_ being hard for him. It’s been a year. It’s been longer than a year. You know who needs to stop being a queen about all of this? HIM. _He_ needs to get over himself. If he really cared about me, this would be _him_ talking to me, _not_ you and I don’t think you really have any goddamn right to be saying shit considering you slept with my boyfriend, huh?”

“That’s not fair--”

“No, YOU are not being fair right now. Shane and I are over and that’s not your decision, Merle. It’s mine. We’ve been over for a long time now and this is the last straw. It’s done and there’s nothing you can do about it. And if you like him so much, _fine_. You go and date him.”

Daryl turns on his heel and starts stomping away back to his bedroom when Merle calls after him, “I WILL.” Daryl pauses and looks back over his shoulder. “If you’re not going to realize what you got, fine. But me, ME,” Merle points to his chest, “I ain’t gonna let a good thing go. You need to stop acting all high and mighty, baby brother, and spend a second looking at something other than yourself. You know why he was looking for you? He was feeling guilty because you were trying to make him go to a fag bar. Yeah, I said it. And he didn’t want to go and why would he? I wouldn’t want to go sit around with a bunch of rainbow ass-pirates, either. And so you know what happened? He started crying, Daryl. Fucking crying, man, about how he was letting you down and about how he loved you and shit and what the hell were you doing? Banging some hipster douche, I bet. Grinding up on him like he was a double-dipped cone. So fuck you. You want to live that lifestyle, fine. You go do it. Have fun with your little L-G-B-Fucknot Bitches. Me, I’m going to go back to bed. And fucking hold him.”

Daryl blinks and watches wide-eyed as Merle turns and storms off to the back of the house. He hears the door of Merle’s bedroom slam open and shut, followed by a series of muffled voices. Panic sets up in his spine. He’s not ready to face Shane. He can’t. He just _can’t_. Everything needs to slow down. He needs time to think, time to process all of the vast amount of shit that has happened to him in the last twelve hours--Rick and his eyes burning hot for Daryl, Shane and Merle together, Merle _gay_ , Shane crying over him, himself set on breaking up with Shane...suddenly, it’s all way too much.

He has a flash of running to Rick, of crashing into his truck and peeling to Rick’s driveway, knocking down the door and leaping into Rick’s arms, being with him. Rick would hold him, make him feel better, let all the worry melt away. But Rick is currently _divorcing his wife_ and he has a wedding to go to, anyway, and he has no time for Daryl right now.

So Daryl does the next best thing. He grabs his keys and his wallet, leaves his fucking phone, and takes his crossbow out of his bedroom. And then he flees to his truck and backs it out into the road lightning fast, turns it to the east of town, out to a set of backwoods trails that he tried out alone several years ago and that Merle doesn’t know about. If no one is going to give him time to get his life together, he’s going to make time. Because out in the woods, there’s no such thing as brothers who have betrayed you, boyfriends, or future boyfriends. There’s just the green grass, the blue sky, and squirrels that don’t judge you for your choices in life. Georgia is always out there waiting for him and she won’t turn him away.


	17. Striking a Deal

Rick sits on the edge of the bed and tries not to wrinkle his new fancy suit, his cellphone in his right hand and divorce papers in his left. He sighs and dials Daryl’s number one more time and listens as it forwards him to voicemail. He thinks about leaving another one, but really seven is too much. He should have stopped at six and really at five, and honestly no sane person leaves four...but it is what it is now. He just hopes that wherever Daryl is, he’s okay.

He stuffs his phone into his pocket and stares down at the nicely folded stack of papers that now have his undivided attention. In the bathroom, Lori is shuffling around, up-doing her hair and the faint sounds of a frost dragon attacking Malilc-Gor the Wicked are filtering in from the living room punctuated only by Carl’s frequent use of the word “crap!” directed at the screen.

Rick hasn’t told her yet. He hasn’t really found the right time to dump more than a decade of marriage down the toilet and he didn’t feel that it would be fair to tell her before the happy union of their friends. And really, Maggie and Glenn don’t deserve that kind of negativity pouring in from their dinner guests, so he’ll wait. Tomorrow. First thing. Even though he’s itching to do it now.

He sighs and unfolds the paper, glances over the agreements again. They’ll have to be changed, he’s sure, but he’s tried to be reasonable with what they’ll both want. Lori can keep the house. They’ll split Carl 50/50, especially if Rick lives in the same town, which he’s planning to do. There are nice apartments not two miles from here, which would be perfect for Carl to ride his bike to and fro. He hopes he’s put enough into the alimony, has accurately calculated last year’s taxes, has written in enough for child support.

God. He’s going to be paying child support. He leans forward and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s a man, now, that isn’t supporting his family. At least not in the traditional sense. What is he doing? And why is he doing it? For Daryl? Daryl, who won’t answer his phone, won’t return Rick’s calls, who is avoiding Rick at all costs? Or for just Rick in general? For his damn dick which has decided it likes other dicks. He’s going to leave his wife and son so that he can go off and have gay sex.

But Lori isn’t happy, he tells himself. And he isn’t happy. And he’s a man of principle, ethics, _morals_ and the moral thing to do right now is to leave Lori. Because she doesn’t deserve to be married to someone that loves someone else. And, he tells himself, if he’s being honest, she doesn’t deserve to be with someone that she herself has fallen out of love with. So this is the end. 

Lori calls that she’s almost ready and Rick nods to himself, stands up and tucks the papers into his jacket pocket, unable to let go of them ever since he had Andrea Harrison at Harrison, Berner, and Sykes Inc. write them up. They’re his security blanket, his rock of faith, his solid real reminder that soon this will all be over. That soon he can be happy again and he has to keep them close, to touch them every once in awhile and let the smooth feel of the paper remind him that the has choices in his life. That he can leave Lori if he wants to. That he can go after Daryl if Daryl will let him, fall into his arms as easily as he had at the club, lay his head on Daryl’s chest and feel it rising and falling in the rhythm that just has to be the universe’s own rotation.

He straightens his tie and loosens it a little, tries too hard not to think about Daryl fixing it for him and ends up thinking about him too much, sighs, closes his eyes, and walks forward to meet Lori and finish the final details before the family walks outside and toward the car.

As Rick is locking the door, he hears Lori’s sing-song voice say, “Theodore! What a nice surprise.” Rick looks up to see his new neighbor with a box in hand, holding it out to Lori.

“It’s not much,” the man says, “but I thought I’d make you some wings. I make a killer spicy thai chicken wing that everyone always raves about and you made me all those pies, so I thought it was only fair. Hope you don’t mind spicy food?”

Lori smiles. “Not at all. This is very kind.” She turns to Rick. “Put them in the fridge for me?”

Rick nods and grabs the box and listens as he walks back into the house and then out as they talk about peach pie, spicy wings, and the wedding. As Rick emerges again, he sees Theodore smile at Lori, his eyes lit up. “Well and here I thought you were the one getting married, you looked so beautiful.”

Lori blushes and ducks her head, waving her hand in dismissal. Theodore smiles and turns to Rick. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Grimes,” he says and winks, before turning to Lori once more. “And call me T-Dog.”

“How Atlanta,” Lori says and they share a laugh. Rick smiles, glad that she’s in a good mood, and opens her door for her as they say goodbye to their neighbor. Carl lounges in the backseat, already having pulled out his phone and keyed up Plague.

“Think I’m going to do a zombie thing this time,” he tells Rick. “And I’m going to start it in the U.S. It’s going to be a fungus. Or maybe I should call it PROPAGANDA. What do you think, Dad? Dad? DAD!”

“What?” Rick snaps, mentally shaking the image of Daryl in the club out of his mind and the way that Daryl’s fingers had felt warm on his skin. In the rearview mirror, he sees Carl roll his eyes.

“Fine,” Carl says and starts typing on his phone. “Name your virus, huh? F-A-T-H-E-R-S.”

Rick shakes his head and pulls out of the driveway after checking with Lori to make sure she has everything. The farm is an hour away, which is just long enough for Rick to really get into a rhythm of obsessing over how he’s going to break the news to Lori. Should he start with Daryl? No, bad idea. Start with the Dr. Tanner meeting? Probably equally bad. Maybe he should just say, “we’re through,” but that’s confrontational. But if he says, “hey, honey, can we talk about maybe divorcing?” that leaves too much room for backing out. Firm, but thoughtful. Sensitive, but insistent. Should he do it with wine? Ugg, no. Alcohol would lead to bad, bad things.

By the time they pull into the farm, Rick has still not come up with a good plan for tomorrow and has in fact only made himself more nervous about the big talk. One of Glenn’s sisters meet them as they exit the car and she and Lori spend time talking over the choice of flowers and colors before they go inside.

The ceremony is beautiful. True love. Maggie and Glenn write their own vows and Maggie’s father, Hershel, is even the one who marries them. Glenn stutters a little at his own speech, but he makes it through and Maggie, for the most part, seems to think it’s endearing. Maggie’s sister, Beth, can’t stop her happy tears and their mutual friends all gather around to congratulate them afterwards. Like all weddings, Rick thinks it takes both forever and not nearly long enough and then, the reception.

After some structure events like cake-cutting and the first dance, everyone is left to mingle and Rick finds himself sitting alone with Lori at a table while the other couples around them adjourn to the dance floor. He watches Carl from across the room as he converses with the kids his age and tries to ignore Lori’s shuffling feet and cold glance. “Do you want to dance, Rick?” Lori asks and Rick tries to tell her yes but can’t, the image of him and Daryl swaying so close together vibrant in comparison to what Lori’s stiff arms and turned head would be like. He tells her no and she sighs. “It’s going to be a long night if you’re going to be like this again.”

Rick feels his blood boil and he nearly snaps something off, but instead decides to swallow it down. There’s no use in fighting now, not when their marriage is only one small thread left to cut and Rick has the scissors out and ready. Lori looks out over the dance floor and ignores Rick, her face colorless and bleak, directly contrasting with the vividness of her dress.

He only has to make it to tomorrow, he tells himself. Just one more day of this thick, poisoning unhappiness. Just twenty-four hours of how she looks at him, drained and disappointed, like he is her life and her life is drowning. And then. God, then, maybe he can get some rest, some _relief_. Maybe this will be as freeing for her as it is for him.

So, his traitorous mind thinks, why wait? There’s no one else around, just the dancers in the background and the soft sound of love songs and surely it wouldn’t be such a bad time to tell her…

“I want a divorce,” Rick says, voicing it out loud.

Lori spins her head around and blinks at him, her chestnut hair on fire against her dress. For a long moment neither of them speak and then, ever so softly she says, “a divorce?” and her voice isn’t cold glass, but the smooth, sincere tone of what he remembers she used to sound like, before the walls had been put up between them.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Lori sits back in her chair and stares at the dancers and then, in a burst, starts laughing. “Richard,” she says, her voice intimate and loving. “You’re telling me this at a wedding?”

Rick smiles even though he doesn’t know why he’s doing it and shrugs. “I guess I am.”

Lori nods and tangles her fingers together. “So...we should talk to a lawyer.”

Rick slowly reaches into his pocket and extracts the papers, hands them over to her gently. She takes them in her hands without a word and opens them, scanning over their contents. “I don’t need the house,” she says.

Rick blinks. “I thought you might like it with Carl and all.”

Lori shakes her head. “It was never really what I wanted. I thought...it might be nice to be in an apartment for once. I’ve never lived in one. It would be like an adventure for me.”

“You’ve...thought about it?”

“Divorcing?” She slowly nods. “For awhile now.” She turns back to the papers. “The Carl situation is fine. 50/50 is good. Every other week, I like that. I’ll take Christmas. Your family is bigger on Thanksgiving, anyway. We can be flexible in the summer, when he doesn’t have school.” She scans through the pages. “The child support seems reasonable. Although, I suppose I’ll get a lawyer of my own to look over it.” She bites her lip and the laughs softly. “So it’s happening? Finally.”

Rick nods. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“What made you....want to do it now?”

“Daryl,” Rick says before he can really examine whether that’s a good idea to bring him up. Lori’s eyes widen at him.

“Daryl told you to…”

“No,” Rick corrects. “I did it for us. For me and you. But...but because of how I feel about him.”

Lori blinks. “How _do_ you feel about him?”

Rick stares at the pretty cream tablecloth below him. “I love him,” he says and carefully doesn’t look at her eyes.

He hears her intake of breath and then her exhale. “Well,” Lori says and her tone is surprisingly even. “I imagine he’s ecstatic about that.” 

“What?” Rick says, lifting his head again. “Why do you think--”

“He told me,” Lori cuts him off. “That he was in love with you. Not with his mouth. I don’t even know if he conceptualizes it yet. But he still told me.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Rick tells her and himself. “Because of Shane.”

Lori shrugs. “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“...why?”

Lori smiles and starts picking up the papers, stacking them neatly after her examination. She folds them and hands them over to Rick, who takes them back gingerly. “Because he’s not you,” she says.


	18. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late. Work has been CRAZY! And what? Is THIS the chapter you guys have been waiting for? :D

When Daryl finally crawls out of the woods, he has to spend a good hour at his job trying to convince his boss that instead of running away from his love life, he’d had crippling migraines for the last three days that had incapacitated him to the point that he couldn’t pick up a phone. But lucky for him, he’d been given employee of the month for three months straight, so it didn’t take much to twist his boss’ arm and to promise to make it up with double shifts for the next few weeks.

After that piece of unpleasantness, he heads home, timing his arrival well into Merle’s work schedule so he won’t have to look at his stupid face and get into another pointless argument about whether or not Shane is a _good_ _guy_. Daryl has a million questions for his brother--how it even happened, just when Merle decided he was gay and chose not to tell Daryl about it, and why on earth Shane would be Merle’s type. But all of those questions can wait, because when it boils down to it, Merle is always going to be his brother and they can get past anything. So he has to deal with the real crushing problem. His soon-to-be-ex.

Daryl walks into his bedroom and starts packing up some things to take with him to a hotel while he dials Shane’s number. It takes Shane all of half-a-ring to pick up with a very quick, “Daryl, baby. Shorty. Honey. Please don’t hang up. Please talk to me.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “I called you, jackass. I’m not going to hang up.” He flops down on the edge of the bed and starts biting at the side of his thumb. “But, uh, maybe this is a conversation we should have in person. So...dinner?”

“Screw that,” Shane says quickly. “I love you. Lunch?”

Daryl screws his eyes shut. Shane is going to make this a lot harder than it has to be. “Shane, I don’t know--”

“Applebee’s! You love Applebee’s. We’ll go there. See you in two hours.” And then Shane hangs up on him, just like that and Daryl sighs heavily into the room. So it’s going to be a lunch break-up date. Perfect.

***

Shane gets there before Daryl and the first thing Daryl notices upon seeing him is that Shane looks wrecked. His clothes look wrinkled and untidy, his skin looks pale which is an amazing feat for Shane, and there are bags under his eyes that could make Daryl a very nice cup of tea. Daryl sighs inwardly and suddenly feels absolutely wracked with guilt despite the fact that he wasn’t the one that had an affair. But, he reminds himself, he’s the one that _almost_ had one. And more than that, he’s the one that ran away for three days.

But those aren’t really the reasons why he feels like the dog in this relationship. The real reason, the real honest truth, is that he feels guilty because he feels nothing. Here Shane is, obviously not sleeping well and just taking the whole thing horribly, and Daryl has hardly felt even one ounce of heartbreak. Does he care that Merle and Shane slept together? Only in the sense that he’s intellectually pissed that they would do that to him. But his emotions, his heart, are a solid ice cold rock. If they want to be together, good for them. He’s out. He’s done.

Daryl slides into the booth opposite Shane and avoids the big, huge puppy-dog brown eyes Shane gives him as he licks his lips. “Daryl, baby,” Shane says, leaning forward across the table before Daryl has even finished sitting down. “Don’t say nothin’, okay? I’ve got a lot to say and just hear me out. I didn’t get the chance to buy you roses, Shorty, I’m sorry, but they’re coming, okay? On their way, I swear, and I will do anything, _anything_ to make this right. I fucked up real bad this time, Daryl, but I know you’re going to forgive me for it because--”

“Shane,” Daryl cuts in, but Shane barrels over him.

“--because you and I, we’re something. We’re perfect, right? Yeah, you can’t let this go. So we’re going to make it better. Merle was a stupid, _stupid_ mistake and I’ve just been a jackass, but I’m going to stop right now and--”

“SHANE,” Daryl growls out and Shane stutters to a stop, but still widens his begging eyes. Daryl takes a calming breath. “We, um...we need to talk. Because I think it’s over.”

“No, no, no,” Shane says and reaches for Daryl’s hand. “It’s not over, Shorty. What kind of flowers you want?”

Daryl pulls his hand back before Shane can grab it. “Flowers aren’t going to fix it this time, Shane.”

Shane flounders at a complete loss, so Daryl tries to put him out of his misery. “Look, it’s not just the Merle thing, okay? And it’s not just the club thing or the PDA thing or the arguing thing or the Colleen, Janice, Maybelle thing. You know? It’s us. We’re not good for each other.” Shane tries to interrupt, but Daryl cuts over him. “We’re NOT. And so we have to stop.”

Shane licks his lips. “But, baby, I love you.”

Daryl scoffs. “No you don’t. Shane, you don’t. It takes you seven seconds to tell me you do when I ask. That shouldn’t be something you think about. And don’t try to explain it. Stop. Okay? We’re not working out. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I want and what I need and hell, I don’t know you, either.”

“But you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Daryl shakes his head. “I’m not. And if I am, that’s just because I’m the first guy you’ve ever dated. I’m serious, Shane. You are as gay as a rainbow jockstrap. The reason you’re so into me is because you’re into _guys_. But I’m not perfect for you just because I have a dick. There are plenty of other men out there that fit you better. And it’s scary, sure, but this,” Daryl waves between them, “it’s over. It’s been over for so long. It was never going to work out.”

“You’re wrong. I love you.”

Daryl sighs and closes his eyes for a minute, centers himself. “...how you feel about Merle?”

Shane blinks. “It was a _mistake_.”

“Shane, don’t do that. R--”

“It was a mistake. Seriously. You were gone and I was horny or I don’t know what was wrong, but it will never happen again.”

“No, Shane, it will.” Daryl holds eyes contact and keeps his ground. “Your flings are a pattern.” He pauses. “But it’s never been a guy before. So...I let the others go, because I figured you just had your ‘trying to be straight’ moments. But...you feel something for Merle?”

“No,” Shane is quick to say.

“Really,” Daryl says, “I’m really asking. I really, truly want to know. And if you do, it’s okay. Do you and Merle...is it a thing?”

Shane studies Daryl for a minute before picking at the table. “He, uh...gets me, I guess. It was a weak moment and I was...kind of upset...about the club shit and he got it. He understood what it was like for me. And he’s been there, you know? He was there for me that night and he...I got to thinkin’ how he’s always there and...I guess I was just kind of weak.”

Daryl swallows and thinks about his own weak moment in the club with Rick, Rick’s nose against his, their bodies humming for each other in a way that was far more intimate than any sexual act they could have done. Is he any better? He sighs softly. “There’s someone else for me, too.”

Shane snaps up his gaze. “...what?”

“There’s…” Daryl sighs. “There’s someone else. We haven’t…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing’s happened. Yet. But I feel...I love him. And that’s not fair to you.”

Shane blinks and sits back in the booth. He licks his lips and then sets his jaw, shakes his head. “Some bitch you met at a club, huh? Some rainbow fag, I bet, who---”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Daryl says and he’s surprised at the gravel and ice churning in his voice. Shane snaps his mouth shut, but sits there, unhappy. After a moment in which Daryl makes sure that Shane isn’t going to continue, he says, “It’s Rick.”

Shane stills, his whole body on pause and his eyes glued to Daryl. “Rick,” he says and when Daryl doesn’t respond, “ _Grimes_.”

Daryl shrugs. “Yeah.”

Shane laughs. “Rick is as straight as a board, baby. Barking up the wrong tree.”

Daryl sits straighter and shrugs again. “Don’t think I am, but alright. The point is that even if he never returns my feelings, I still can’t be with you when all I think about is him. And Shane, you can’t be with _me_ when all you think about is _Merle_.”

Shane grunts and then says softly, “Merle _is_ pretty cool.”

“So go for it,” Daryl tells him.

“That’s not gonna...weird you out?”

Daryl scoffs. “Nah. Merle does all kinds of weird-ass shit that should weird me out but I get used to. The texting is going to be kind of hard to get used to. Since I know what the hell is behind those emoticons of yours. But I’ll deal with it. If it makes you guys happy.”

“ _Would_ make me happy,” Shane says. “To give it a shot.”

“Then do it. Stop clinging to me, Shane. I’m your first boyfriend, but I’m not your _perfect_ boyfriend. And we both know that we both deserve better.”

Shane nods slowly and licks his lips. “So...we’re really breaking up.”

Daryl sighs and nods and then reaches into his pocket and brings out the chain with the number “22” in the center. He stares at it for a moment before putting it gently on the table and sliding it in Shane’s direction. He thinks of all the times he’s thrown it in Shane’s face, hurled it or stomped it or tried to crush it. This is so different, this slow slide as the chain catches on the wood and that’s how Daryl knows that this time, it’s final.

Shane picks up the necklace gingerly and turns it to the light to look at it.

“Give it to Merle,” Daryl says and Shane looks up at him with those wide eyes again, but this time they’re not begging. They’re hopeful and his gaze isn’t here with Daryl, but across town, nestled in the arms of a man that’s probably hauling cherry wood two-by-fours into the back of some guy’s truck-bed, hopefully thinking just as hard about Shane. Daryl smiles. “I hope you guys are happy. I really do.” He stands up and grabs his keys from his pocket. “Oh and Shane? I am totally moving out. I’m not listening to you jackasses banging it up every night.”

“Where you going to go?” Shane asks him. .

Daryl shrugs. “Don’t know. But...I got a few ideas.”

***

Lori sits her coffee cup down on the kitchen island and gives Rick a steady look. “It’s time?”

Rick swallows hard and nods, glancing nervously to the living room where Carl is coming to a good stopping point in his current Skyrim quest to rid Goldenglow of all of its money or something. “We’re sure, right?” he asks. “After we tell him, we can’t take it back.”

Lori “hmms” and stares into the brown liquid of her cup filled with dark roast and french vanilla creamer. “I asked T-Dog out last night. We’re going on a date.” She smiles. “I’m wearing my purple dress with the good set of pearls.”

Rick blinks. “...okay.”

“Let’s go tell our son.” Lori pats him on the shoulder and walks into the living room. “Carl,” she says in her singsong voice, “your dad and I have something to talk to you about.” Lori pauses the game and makes Carl sit up straight while she and Rick sit opposite of him, not touching. Lori fidgets with her cup and Rick looks at anything except his son until the awkwardness gets too much. Finally, he sighs and meets Carl’s gaze.

“Carl. Your mom and I have come to an agreement about our difference. I’m--”

“Ugg,” Carl cuts in, interrupting Rick. “Let me say it for you. You guys are getting a divorce and you’re in love with Daryl.”

Rick blinks and then blinks again, but his son is still sitting in front of him and isn’t a two-headed blue monster, so he must have actually heard the words and not just hallucinated or dreamed the whole thing. He looks over at Lori for help, but she’s just as wide-eyed surprised as he is. After a beat, she stands and smoothes her skirt. “ _Well_ ,” she says to Carl. “I think this has just become a discussion that you need to have with your father.” She starts to head out of the living room before pausing. “Carl, honey, you know you can always talk to be about _anything_ and if we need to have a discussion after this, you come and let me know. I’m going to go pack for Aunt Jamie’s house so we can spend a few days over there, okay? And Rick?” Lori gives him a plastic smile. “Talk to your son.” She leaves with a quick swoosh of her skirt and then it’s just Rick and a pre-teen with raised eyebrows, looking for answers.

“Uh,” he delicately starts, “how’d you know?”

Carl rolls his eyes. “You and Mom are always fighting nowadays.” He flops back over and grabs the remote, unpausing the TV. “And I was awake the other night. I _heard_ you.”

Rick’s mouth falls open and his brow knits as he tries to place what Carl is saying, but Carl fills in the blanks for him. “Come on, Dad. You were by the door. You said it out _loud_. ‘I love you, Daryl.’ After you came back from hanging out with him. Hey, was that a date? Are you dating him? Do you and Mom have an open relationship? Because that’s kind of cool and I have a couple of q---”

“No,” Rick snaps and then shakes his head and closes his eyes, trying to understand everything. “Your Mom and I don’t have an open relationship. Daryl and I weren’t on a date. But I _did_ say it out loud, because it’s how I feel. Even though...he doesn’t know it. And nothing’s happened.”

Carl grunts. “Oh.” He returns to his game. “Not as cool.”

“Carl,” Rick says and sighs. “I think we need to talk about this. Man to man. Your mother and I are divorcing and that means--”

“Some fifty-fifty thing, I bet,” Carl says while his orc sneaks around a corner. “Or Mom gets me and you get weekends. Bet you split holidays, too, and crap. Come on, Dad. Patrick’s parents are divorced. I know how this works. And I’ve been prepared for it for, like, three years now. I know you both love me and whatever. I get it. I don’t have questions.”

Rick blinks and stares at his son who is as cool as a cucumber. He thinks about pushing Carl some more, about making him turn off the TV and have a discussion, but he figures they have plenty of time to talk about it and he’ll come around. So he simply stands and tells Carl if he ever wants to talk, Rick is there.

And then he watches as his wife finishes packing and takes Carl to her sister’s for a few days--mostly as a social gesture, rather than out of any anger or sadness. Although he also suspects that she’ll feel better when T-Dog picks her up for their _date_ and Rick’s life is so different than it was a month ago.

He flops on the couch himself and has just turned on CNN when he hears the car pull back into the driveway. He groans and gets up, starts scouring for Lori’s purse or box or whatever it is she forgot, when the door flies open and standing there with the sunlight filtering in is not Lori’s slim, feminine figure, but Daryl in all his glory, a smile fighting at the corners of his mouth and eyes like a summer tsunami.

“Daryl!” Rick gasps out. “Wher---”

“Door was open,” Daryl says instead and takes a noticeable gulping breath. “Lori and Carl?”

“At her sister’s,” Rick hears himself saying and watches in absolute awe as Daryl slams the door shut and storms across the living room.

Everything happens at once. Daryl takes the distance in large, confident strides and Rick’s arms are open just as Daryl gets to them and then Daryl is in them and backing him up and somewhere between the side of the couch and the wall, they find each other, and Daryl’s lips are finally, _finally_ on Rick’s as Rick’s head hits the plaster and stays there, Daryl’s body pressed to him like glue and Rick’s eyes are sealed shut and time loses all meeting as Daryl breathes into him, his hands cradling Rick’s face like it’s a porcelain statue ready to break.

“Daryl,” Rick whispers against his lips and Daryl adjusts the angle and dives back in, their lips crushing together, coming together, making more damn sense than anything in Rick’s life has ever made and Rick groans against the mouth of the love of his life and Daryl just moans back and then the kiss turns from hot and desperate to passionate and wet and their hands start roaming over everything and Rick pushes Daryl away from the wall with his body while still keeping their lips sealed firmly together and they take one step, two, three, and then they’re falling onto the carpet together, not graceful or elegant, but entangled and entwined, Rick landing on top of Daryl, and Daryl’s hands under his shirt and Rick’s own playing with the waistband of Daryl’s pants and Rick feels himself being sucked down into Daryl like Daryl is a black hole and he’s a lost, lonely ship out in the void with no hope of survival.

“Rick?” Daryl asks, “Do you l--”

“I love you,” Rick says, knowing, but not caring, if that was what Daryl was really asking.

“Yes,” Daryl hisses out when Rick bites his jawline. “I love you, too. I do. _I do_. Shane--”

“It’s over,” Rick says and kisses him again, letting his tongue dive in deep and delving. “I know. You broke up with him.”

“And you and Lori signed the papers.”

“Yeah,” Rick says and then looks down into Daryl’s eyes, holds his gaze. “Now shut up about them. And fucking kiss me.”

Daryl grins and does, molding his mouth, his chest, his hips, his entire attention up into Rick, falling into him just as easily, just as desperately, as Rick’s heart is cascading down into Daryl’s.


	19. A Carpet, a Guest Room, and a Kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little NSFW, guys. Well, a lot NSFW...so read at your own risk (I say as I upload this at work).

Rick’s body above him is creating pressure like a valve and energy is building up within Daryl to the point where he feels like he’s about to shatter into a million pieces if he can’t touch Rick’s naked skin, can’t run his hands intimately over Rick’s body, feel his chest sliding against Rick’s, feel their limbs intertwining, their groins rubbing up against one another. “Rick,” he whispers and Rick moans in return and kisses him again, diving deeper, exploring Daryl like no one has ever taken the opportunity to do. He thinks of Rick on top of him, _having him_ , then him on top of Rick and he wants so badly to slide in, to take Rick and make him Daryl’s, but Shane had never let him do that and Rick is just as new a gay as Shane was, so he might not want to, either. So Daryl says, “You can have me,” because really, as long as his skin touches Rick’s it’s going to be paradise.

Rick pulls back just slightly and stares down at him, then runs his fingers slowly through Daryl’s hair. “If that’s what you want,” Rick says and kisses him again, softly this time, just a press of lips to lips. “But I kind of...thought maybe you could show me? What it’s all about?”

Daryl blinks and then smiles up at Rick. “You want me to…?”

“Take me,” Rick breathes against his mouth and then tightens his thighs where he’s straddling Daryl and flips them over, so Daryl is on top, pressed deliciously against Rick’s warm body. Rick runs a hand down Daryl’s chest, his fingers caressing over the fabric of Daryl’s shirt. “Please?”

Daryl has no words, so he grunts instead, and kisses Rick so Rick will understand, putting his fingers against the side of his neck to hold him in place and ravishing his mouth like he’s planning to do to his body. Rick moans, loud and deep into the living room and grinds up against Daryl and Daryl feels him long and hard against his thigh and gasps. He leans up and grabs the hem of his shirt, throws it off and starts working on the buttons of Rick’s. Rick helps him, starting at the top while Daryl starts at the bottom and they meet at the middle button where Daryl bats his hand away and then leans down, uses his teeth and tongue to pop the last one off. Rick throws his head back and his mouth open, silently gasping into the living room and then Rick’s skin is released and so Daryl has to put his tongue on it, has to lick a stripe up Rick’s chest.

“Daryl,” Rick moans and threads his hand in Daryl’s hair, leads him up to his mouth so that they can kiss again, bare chests pressed together and then Rick’s hand is skimming low across his skin and finds the waistband of Daryl’s jeans, slipping inside and touching him so easy that if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Rick was an expert at this. Rick strokes him and Daryl’s breath hitches and he goes from mostly there to more there than he’s ever been in his entire life and he reaches down to slide his own pants down his hips so that Rick can get to him better.

“How’s it feel?” Daryl asks him, kissing his neck.

Rick moans. “Damn near perfect,” he says and then starts wiggling to get out of his own clothes. Daryl pulls back and gives them both a minute to finish de-robing and when Rick’s clothes finally come free, Daryl spends a moment just staring, soaking in the pretty sight below him and committing it to memory.

Rick blushes and stammers. “Know I’m not much to look at.”

“Shut up,” Daryl tells him and splays his body across Rick’s, kissing him and putting his fingers deep into those curls. “You’re everything I imagined.” They lose themselves for a minute in each other, writhing and kissing, gasping each other’s name, until Daryl asks timidly, “You...you sure?”

Rick nods, his pupils blown out and wide, his dick hard against Daryl’s skin, his mouth open and swollen from where Daryl’s been working on it. “For you, I am,” Rick whispers and kisses his jaw once before Daryl leans up and fishes in his jeans pocket for the small bottle he brought just in case. He tries to keep his blushing to a minimum, but Rick still sees it and grins. “Think I’m a sure thing?” he asks and Daryl shakes his head.

“Just hoping you would be,” he says and kisses Rick quickly. “Just...relax. I’ll take care of you.”

Rick lays back and swings one leg up over Daryl’s waist and Daryl distracts him from the bottle popping and Daryl slicking up his fingers by kissing the hell out of him and just when Daryl is ready to add the first finger, he bites down on Rick’s lip until he moans and then slides it into Rick so easily. Rick’s eyes fly open and he groans, throwing his head back which is just perfect advantage for Daryl to bite lightly at his Adam’s apple as he adds a second finger and then, as he works on kissing all of Rick’s skin, a third for good measure.

“I’m ready,” Rick tells him. “Daryl, I want you. I _need_ you. _Please_.”

“You’re sure?” Daryl asks him one last time, his bones suddenly rattling with fear that Rick will decide this is all too much and he really _is_ straight and bolt away, slinging slurs in Daryl’s face.

But Rick doesn’t do that. Instead he smiles and reaches up, tucks a strand of hair behind Daryl’s ear and licks his lips. “For you, I am _always_ sure.”

Daryl nods and leans down to kiss Rick, but Rick pushes at his chest to stop him. “No,” he says. I want to look into your eyes while you do it. I want to see you.”

Daryl blinks, but then nods and positions himself. Rick’s eyes flicker down to where Daryl is sliding a hand under his lower back to hold Rick up and Rick is wrapping his legs around Daryl and then Daryl takes his free hand and puts it on the side of Rick’s neck, using his thumb to tilt his chin up. “Look at me, baby,” he says and Rick does, his eyes flying straight to Daryl’s and his pupils blowing out with attention.

Daryl runs his thumb lightly over Rick’s neck and captures his bright summer blue eyes as he slides in slowly. He watches Rick’s breath hitch and his mouth fall open, but Rick never blinks, holding Daryl’s gaze with an intensity that should be creating electrical storms and World War III right here in this living room, but is instead directing all of its turbulent crashing power straight down through Daryl’s body like an electrical conduit.

Within Rick, Daryl twitches and then his hips jerk and Rick finally breaks eye contact to throw his head back and moan and that gives Daryl just the extra push he needs to thrust forward home until he is deep within Rick, all the way to the hilt and Rick is gasping, his chest heaving and Daryl leans forward to put his lips there, right in the center of Rick’s chest. Rick gasps out, “Have me,” and Daryl intends to do just that as he pulls out slowly and thrusts back in just as slowly, drawing it out and watching the shivers of goosebumps cascade across Rick’s skin.

Rick reaches up and digs his fingers into Daryl’s back, gasping and watching Daryl with more focus that Daryl has ever been given in his whole life. Daryl sets up a rhythm that’s smooth, but hard, slow but deep and he loses himself in watching the little twitches of Rick’s body as his hips roll to accept Daryl, draw him in, and then ease him out again. Daryl looks between them and sees Rick’s cock twitching with how hot Daryl is making him feel which makes Daryl feel hotter and he’s not going to last very long, so he moves his hand away from Rick’s neck and reaches down to stroke him, but Rick grabs his wrist and shakes his head.

“Too close,” Rick gasps out. “You touch me and it’s over.”

Daryl smiles, gasping himself and leans down to kiss Rick thoroughly, diving his tongue in with the same rhythm his hips are jerking in and out. “Want you to come for me,” Daryl says against his mouth. “Want to touch you and make you.” He angles his thrust and hits deep, sliding against that special spot within Rick and making Rick go cross-eyed and gasping. He takes that moment to touch Rick, to grab him and give him a long stroke and Rick’s hips buck which slides Daryl in farther and Daryl can feel the power within Rick’s body trying to break lose and watches as Rick fights it back.

“Not yet,” Rick says, “Not yet. Kiss me.”

Daryl nods and does so, pressing his lips to Rick’s and letting Rick take control of the kiss while he keeps stroking Rick and thrusting deep inside him. “Love you,” Rick murmurs and that spoken phrase sets something off in him and so he says it again, over and over, and Daryl hears his own voice joining in and then with a firm twist of his wrist and a powerful hitch of his hips, Rick is coming, arching and finishing all over Daryl’s stomach and all Daryl needs is one, two, three more thrusts and then he’s letting go as well, gasping and finishing deep inside Rick, their bodies twitching on the same kind of frequency as they mold together so thoroughly that Daryl forgets what the difference is between them and how they were ever apart.

In that one moment, he sees his life flash before him--sees days like this on the floor, and others in beds, on tables, in closets and alcoves, on couches and then more than that, so much more than that, cuddling afterwards, watching movies and batting Rick’s hand away from the popcorn, arguing over who’s turn it is to drive, forcing Rick to use live bait the next time they go fishing, showering together, paying bills together, RSVPing to birthday parties together, living together like he’s never in his life lived with anyone else, giving himself over like he’s never in his life been willing to give. Rick is his everything. Rick will always be his everything. Rick is---

“Yours,” Rick says and smiles at Daryl, flopping back on the floor and letting his muscles go boneless. “Motherfucker, Daryl, I am _so_ yours.”

***

Afterwards, Daryl lies on his back on the carpet and stares at the ceiling and Rick notes only belatedly that his muscles are tense and his jaw is set. So belatedly in fact that he’s already snuggled in and laid his head on Daryl’s chest before he realizes that Daryl is flinching away. Rick frowns and leans up on his elbow, staring down at Daryl.

“What’s wrong?” he asks and Daryl just shakes his head and swallows hard.

“Nothing,” he says quickly and continues to avoid Rick’s gaze, choosing instead to stare at the corner where the wall meets the ceiling.

Rick fidgets and tries to calm his mind down from the million scenarios he has flying around in it about how lame he was in bed. “I, uh…do you want me to leave you alone?”

Daryl shrugs and reaches over to pick at the carpet. “If that’s what you want.”

Rick bites his lip. “Well...it’s not, really. But I get it if you’re not a snuggler. I’ll just...lay over here, then.” He curls himself into a half-moon position, facing Daryl, and props his head up under his arm.

“You don’t have to hold it in,” Daryl tells him. “Go ahead and freak out if you need to.”

Rick furrows his brow. “Freak out? Over what? Over the absolutely _amazing_ sex we just had?”

Daryl stares at him like he’s got a second head and then slowly pulls his hand up and starts biting at his thumb. “You’re not going to fly off the handle at me?”

Rick laughs. “Fly off the…? Why would I fly off the handle?”

Daryl shrugs. “I don’t know. Cause you still want to be straight?”

Rick raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “After that experience? Hell no. I’ll hold up the other end of the flag if you need me to.” And then, all of a sudden, Rick gets it. He remembers Daryl in his car after the concert incident. _What’d Shane do?_ he asked. _We fucked and afterwards, he told me he wasn’t queer...left me high and dry_. Rick wonders if Shane was like that all the time, how abusive he was to Daryl after it was all said and done, how _conditioned_ Daryl has become to hearing things like _queer_ and _fag_ once he’s finished. Rick frowns and scoots closer to Daryl, gingerly putting his hand on Daryl’s chest. “Hey, just because Shane didn’t take it well, doesn’t mean we all act like that.”

Daryl grunts and Rick gives him a minute to collect his thoughts before Daryl finally speaks. “You’re...you’re not going to run off on me?”

Rick shakes his head. “No.” He leans forward and kisses Daryl’s shoulder, closes his eyes and burns the taste of Daryl’s skin into his mind. “Never.” Rick lays his head back on Daryl’s chest and after a moment, Daryl gingerly puts his arm around Rick’s back. Rick smiles and closes his eyes. “I could lay like this forever.” He sighs happily and listens to the rhythm of Daryl’s heartbeat under his ear.

“You’re taking it well,” Daryl says.

Rick grunts. “Yeah. Well, I mean I had my phase. Went and saw Dr. Tanner about it. And then...I don’t know. It just seemed so easy, you know? Gay meant you. So that’s all that mattered.”

Daryl “hmms” to that and they lay there, Daryl staring at the ceiling and Rick snuggled into him for a few more minutes before Daryl says, “Mind if we move to the couch or a bed or something? Carpet’s making my ass itchy.”

“ _Your_ ass,” he says, snickering, and leans up so he can look at Daryl’s face. “Want to see what it did to my back?”

Daryl laughs and a small blush creeps into his cheeks. “I could kiss it better for you?”

Rick chuckles and leans down, kisses him softly. “You better. It’s all your fault.”

Daryl grins slyly. “Well, then I guess I’m going to have to spend a while making it up to you, aren’t I?” He leans forward and kisses the tip of Rick’s nose and Rick laughs and wipes it off before standing up, buck naked, and holding his hand out to Daryl. Daryl grunts and takes it, letting Rick pull him up and then Rick slides back so easily into his arms, smiling softly at how Daryl encapsulates him in a cocoon of warmth. “Bedroom?” he says, his eyes sparkling.

Daryl smiles, but then falters just slightly. “Guest one? Don’t know if I’m quite ready for the other yet.”

Rick nods and threads his fingers in Daryl’s, starts kissing each knuckle. “You know when we moved in, I always wanted the guest room as the main. I know it’s smaller, but the sun comes into it so nice and it just feels...homey, you know? So maybe that’s for the best. Maybe I’ll move my stuff in there.”

“Lori’s not keeping the house?” Daryl asks and Rick shakes his head.

“No,” he says, “all ours.” And then he blushes fiercely. “I mean, mine. Look at me. Talking out of my ass like we’re committed or something.”

Daryl scoffs. “Not far from it,” he says and when Rick looks up at him with wide eyes and is just on the verge of asking him what he means by that, Daryl snakes his arms around Rick’s waist and then tosses him up and before Rick knows it, he’s over Daryl’s shoulder and Daryl is carting him back to the bedroom, both of them shrieking with laughter.

***

The entire afternoon is spent rolling around in bed, alternating between cuddle sessions and sex sessions to the point where Daryl is both tired and the most rested he’s ever been all at once. They only get dressed from six to seven in which Rick orders Domino’s and they watch the pizza tracker, throwing on outfits right when the guy gets there and devouring a medium sausage pizza--complete with giggling fests--and two orders of breadsticks. And then it’s back to bed and Daryl couldn’t be happier to be spending it with Rick, so much so that he forgets all about the shift he should be preparing for tomorrow morning until it’s time for bed, but there’s no way he can leave Rick alone in the house when his skin looks so damn beautiful and his eyes are sparkling diamonds that are reflecting Daryl straight back at him.

So he stays. And they sleep the night in the guest room, tangled in each other so thoroughly that Daryl forgets which leg is his and which arm he’s supposed to be propping his head on. He thinks back to the time when he stayed here after Rick had picked him up, sharing Rick’s clothes and thinking about him, thinking about what it would be like if this was their house, their bed. It is now and Daryl realizes that as much time as he spent picturing it, the fantasy pales in comparison to the real technicolor event.

He wakes in the morning when the sun starts filtering in through the windows and despite the fact that Rick is off and can sleep as long as he wants to, he showers with Daryl and they spend the morning in the kitchen, Daryl alternatively trying to make toast and trying to stop Rick from putting jelly on his face with a series of complicated ducks and maneuvers.

Daryl realizes he’s giggling like a schoolgirl and what’s more, he’s been doing it for about sixteen hours straight and how has he found a man so damn perfect that he sometimes feels like the outside world just doesn’t even exist and all there is is Rick, a toaster, and a blackberry jelly dot that Rick is currently licking off of his nose?

The point is that he’s in absolutely paradise, which means it’s especially hard for him to shift gears when his phone starts ringing. Daryl groans and gives Rick two more kisses while he delays before he looks at the caller ID. “...huh,” he says and shows Rick. “It’s Lori.”

Rick furrows his brow, but shrugs and Daryl answers. “Hey, Lori,” he says and waits for her voice while Rick hops up on the counter beside him and starts touching whatever exposed skin he can get his hands on.

“Daryl! Hi. Sorry, I hope you were up? I didn’t know if you were working today, but I was wondering if we could talk sometime. Do you have time for breakfast or maybe lunch today?”

“Uh,” Daryl says, distracted by Rick’s tongue on his neck. “Yeah. Yeah! I have…” He checks the time. “About two hours before work, so if we went quick, I could meet you?”

“Great!” Lori says, “There’s a coffee shop on Main. Isn’t that close to where you work?”

“The Corner Cafe one? Yeah, it’s close. I can be there in twenty. Is there...something wrong?”

“No,” Lori says, her voice light and happy. “No, nothing like that. I just...wanted to check up. See how you and Rick are doing. I thought...maybe we could have a friend date? So I’ll see you there?”

“Uh, sure,” he says. “See you in a bit.”

He ends the call and pulls the phone away from his ear, shrugging at Rick. “She didn’t really say what she wanted.”

Rick pulls back from his assault on Daryl’s neck and looks alternatively bedroom-eyed and a little insecure. “She...she’s not going to turn you off of me, is she?”

Daryl scoffs. “Baby,” he says and leans forward, kissing Rick softly. “Absolutely _nothing_ could turn me off of you.” He puts their foreheads together and for a moment they lose themselves in staring straight into each other’s eyes before Rick leans forward across the counter and scoops up another small dab of jelly on his finger.

“Oh, no,” Daryl says and scoots away, putting the counter between them. “Nu huh. I’ll see you tonight Rick. At home.” He leans over the smooth surface and puts on his best grin. “And when I walk in this door, you better be wearing _nothing_.”


	20. When Did Everything Become Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wwwwwhhhhaaaattttt, does that say twenty ONE chapters? Yes, my friends, it does. I have been convinced to give you guys an epilogue tomorrow so you can have a little more time with the boys. :D

The Corner Cafe is a small local establishment run by a mom-and-pop type family and while the regular coffee leaves something to be desired, the salted caramel mocha is to die for. Daryl orders two and sits one down in front of Lori, pulling the other one into himself, and smiles at her a little nervously.

Lori takes the cup and Daryl examines her for any sign of anger or sadness and weirdly enough, finds none. She looks perky, happy and alert, and the pale drained color in her cheeks has been replaced with a nice lively blush, the pulled corners of her mouth lined out and smooth. She takes a drink of the mocha and grins in Daryl’s direction. “The world is bright and beautiful today, isn’t it?” she says. “Daryl, I am having the _best_ mor--”

“You totally got laid,” Daryl says, not missing a beat.

Lori grins. “You remember that neighbor? _T-Dog_.” She licks her lips. “Well, once you go black…”

Daryl laughs. “Oh god. And here I thought you were calling to tell me I had to stop seeing Rick.”

Lori gives him an up-and-down and then hmms. “I’m not the only one that got laid, I’m sure.”

Daryl gives her a sly look over his coffee cup and then shrugs secretively. “Is it weird?”

“Yes,” Lori says after she thinks for a minute. “And no. I’ll get used to it.”

“I respect that,” Daryl says. “That’s how I feel about...well, I don’t know if you heard or not. But Shane...he slept with my brother. Part of the reason I broke it off with him.”

Lori blinks. “Shane cheated on you?”

Daryl scoffs and shakes his head. “More than once.” He takes a drink of his mocha. “But never with a guy before. So this was kind of it.”

Lori stares at her cup and then raises an eyebrow. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Everything’s….changed. I’m divorced now. Well, we signed the papers. I guess it will take a bit to finalize. And I’m not living at my house anymore. I slept with a black guy. Just slept with him. On date one. Like a total slut, but I feel so proud of myself. And he texted me this morning. Look.” She pulls out her phone and shows Daryl a text that reads _Hey, little lady. See you tonight? Gonna teach you how to battle._ Lori giggles. “He means _rap battle_.” She sighs happily. “I feel so free, you know? A new Lori. And look at you. Away from Shane, with Rick. Are you guys happy? I bet you’re happy. Everything’s just changing so quickly. Hell, my son even told me this morning that he’s in an open relationship with a guy and a girl. Same time. He keeps asking me if Rick and I were in an open marriage and I keep telling him we weren’t, but he doesn’t seem to believe me. God. Everything is just...so different.”

Daryl nods and is quick to say, “For the better?”

“Yes,” Lori agrees, “for the better.” She looks at the table and starts tapping her fingers against her cup. “But, um...there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow. “Sure. What is it?”

Lori pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and bites her lip. “Remember...when we were at the bank? The conversation we had?” Daryl takes a minute to remember Lori, checkbook in hand and tears at the corner of her eyes, ranting about Rick, before he nods. “Well...what I said wasn’t an exaggeration. I don’t have many friends. I mean, real friends. Not socialite friends. And I was just hoping...that even if you and Rick were together...I wouldn’t be losing you, too. I don’t want _everything_ to be different. You know?”

Daryl waves a hand in dismissal. “I’m still your friend, Lori. As long as you’re okay with me bitching about how Rick snores and won’t stop kissing me, we’re as right as rain.”

Lori smiles slowly and lets out a breathy laugh. “Good. Because I need a modern dress for the Lil Wayne concert this weekend. And, oh! You can go apartment shopping with me. And help me write a letter to my bookclub telling them they can go fuck themselves up the ass.” She sits back and starts ticking things off on her fingers as she thinks of more and Daryl just drinks his coffee and smiles in her direction, letting her go on for as long as she likes.

***

Apparently, being gone for three days has taken its toll because all of the real hard, nasty jobs have been left to Daryl--like crawling under the Patterson’s muddy house to get at their air conditioner that’s so old it was probably the first installed in Georgia or banging on the Benson’s unit _again_ and hoping that maybe this time it will decide to work or being pushed out on the Olson’s emergency call-- _Yes, it’s supposed to sound like that. No, it’s not toxic._

So by the time lunch hits, Daryl is far and away ready to take a break from what he’s considering to be his most miserable day on the job this whole year. He’s sticky, dirty, tired, and completely exhausted and all he really wants is to go home to Rick, but what he’s going to have to do instead is settle for a quick jaunt over to McDonald’s and a phone call spoken around a quarter-pounder that he’s preparing to choke down.

But all of those boring expectations are broken the second he walks into the office and Tony grins at him like a cheshire cat and says in a sing-song voice, “Your boyfriend’s in the lunchroom waiting for ya.”

Daryl blinks and says an intelligent, “What?”

Tony laughs. “Some dude, says he’s dating you, in the lunchroom. Now, Daryl, remember, if you _do_ decide to have some work hanky-panky, we practice the ‘clean up after yourself cause I don’t want to smell your jizz’ methods, here.” Tony’s grin nearly threatens to break off his face and Daryl pops him upside the head as he turn on his heel and starts heading toward the lunch room. “HEY!” Tony calls after him. “BE A GENTLEMAN! DON’T FORGET THE REACH-AROUND.”

Daryl glares at him over his shoulder as he opens the door and then turns to see if anyone really _is_ there waiting for him, when he sees Rick’s beautiful smiling face sitting in the corner, two brown bags in front of him. Daryl blinks. Rick blushes. And then Daryl is across the room in a second. “Hi,” he says, suddenly in a fantastic mood. “You came to see me?”

Rick shrugs and looks bashful. “Y-yeah? Is that okay?”

Daryl sits down opposite of him at the table. “It’s _perfect_.” He can’t keep the grin off his face as Rick smiles back and pushes one of the bags toward him. “What’s this?” he asks.

“Just a little something,” Rick says and Daryl glances down into the bag and starts slowly pulling the items out. A bowhunting magazine, because Rick knows he likes to hunt. BBQ chips, because he said they were his favorite when Rick and Lori made him burgers after Shane had left him that night, bluets because he must have been admiring them again while they were fishing, Dr. Pepper because that’s what he had brought to their outing, and a roast beef sandwich...because that’s what he said he had wanted on the boat dock, the very thing that Shane would never do.

Daryl looks up at Rick and blinks, but doesn’t have any words. All this time, from the very start, it wasn’t just him swooning, it wasn’t just him drowning in thoughts of what if, what would happen if we could. From the very beginning Rick has remembered everything, every little detail about what Daryl had wanted his life to be. And it might sound silly and trivial to others on the outside, but to Daryl it’s monumental. Here he is, sitting at lunch with his boyfriend who loves him enough to remember what his favorite sandwich is, what flowers he likes, what his favorite hobbies are. Who knows him enough to know what he wants, when he wants it, and when he doesn’t. Who is looking at him right now with the brightest, warmest eyes Daryl has ever seen and who is right now reaching across the table to tangle his fingers in Daryl’s and whisper “I love you,” with a wink.

It’s perfect. It’s so absolutely flawless, as clear as the blue depths of mountain water. Daryl really should have know from the first second he met Rick how everything from then on would pan out. And now, here they are, on a day that’s normal enough, ordinary enough, to be the first day of the rest of their lives. Daryl squeezes Rick’s hand and whispers back, “I love you, too.” Because as long as Rick is with him, no ordinary day will ever be anything less than sublime.


	21. A Picnic for the Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the story is complete! Thanks to all of you who stuck with me through all of it and left wonderful amazing comments, kudos, and bookmarks! You guys keep me writing!

“Okay,” Daryl says as he slides through the back door into the house and finds Rick in the kitchen, gathering mustards and ketchups, “the burgers are on, chip bags are on the table, Lori’s got the lemonade and tea all set, Carl’s been stealing from the cookie plate, and Merle’s trying to deepthroat a hot dog. So...we’re ready?”

“Potato salad,” Rick says as he juggles his fifth bottle, trying to carry everything at once. “Top shelf.”

Daryl grunts and reaches into the fridge, grabs the bowl and turns back to Rick, kicking the fridge door shut. “Check.”

Rick grins over the mayonnaise. “And a kiss.”

Daryl scoffs. “You greedy bastard,” he says, but leans over the salad and the condiment bottles to press his lips firmly to Rick’s. “That going to satisfy you enough to get through the picnic?”

“ _Satisfy_ ,” Rick says, “is too strong a word. I guess I won’t _die_.”

Daryl rolls his eyes, but starts walking toward the back and holds the door for Rick so he can slink through with his (five, six, seven?) bottles.

Emerging into the yard is like walking into a circus. Merle is sitting on the picnic table beside the grill, alternatively making slurping sounds at his hotdog and slapping Shane’s ass, who insisted on grilling. Lori and T-Dog are sitting at the picnic table over, T-Dog playing with Lori’s new cornrows and manly gushing about Chamillionaire. And Carl is off by himself, deeply involved in his phone as he carries on what Daryl guesses are two separate teenage sexting conversations, which probably consists of “I kiss the corner of your mouth” and “Let’s hold hands.”

When they come out of the house, Carl lifts his head and gives Daryl that wink that says, “remember how I told you I was dating both Enid and Patrick because we are so grownup and we’ll never get jealous? It’s going well.” Daryl rolls his eyes at the kid, but smiles, and sets the potato salad down on the table in just the right amount of time to lunge forward and grab the ketchup that Rick is dropping while trying to set everything down at once.

“Was it worth it?” Daryl asks.

Rick laughs. “Got it in one trip, didn’t I?”

Daryl shakes his head, but gives Rick a loving shoulder-bump before Rick raises his voice to declare that everything is good to go.

“Good!” Merle says and deep-throats the hotdog in front of Shane again. “Queer-bait and I are ready to eat.”

Lori furrows her brow and frowns. “You shouldn’t use that language in front of Carl.”

“What? Fag? Queer? Ass-pirate?”

“Merle,” Daryl says for the millionth time, “shut your face.”

“Uh huh,” Merle says through his dog. “Chuckles here,” he jerks his thumb at Shane, “decided to get sassy with me last night and call me a faggoty ass vandal. And he _knows_ what that gets him, don’t you, sugar tits? Hell, yeah, you know. Means I get to say as much shit about him as I want and slap his ass with a spatula in public.” Merle grabs his handy-dandy spatula and swats. “All,” swat, “Day,” swat, “Long,” swat.

Shane frowns hella hard, but gives Merle that glimmer in his eye that says he doesn’t really mean it and Daryl really, _really_ , wishes that he didn’t notice how Shane lifts his ass to every hit.

“Can we stop talking about ass-pirates?” Carl asks with a roll of his eyes. “You’re old. It’s gross.”

Merle sucks in an offended breath. “Boy, I will have you know I am in my _prime_.”

“Please,” Daryl says as he sits down on the bench across from Merle, “that buzzcut mohawk makes you look like your unexpected children have had unexpected _grandchildren_.”

“Ah, fuck you, man--”

“Language!” Lori says.

“Oh, like it’s any worse than any of your damn _rappers_ , woman,” Merle bites back at her.

“Rap,” Lori says, straightening her back and lifting her nose just slight, “is a sophisticated art form.”

“More sophisticated than your white ass,” T-Dog says from across her and Lori snaps at Merle in a z-formation.

Rick rolls his eyes and sits down beside Daryl with a full plate of food, being the only one that’s even bothered yet to fix his. “I expected that the bickering wouldn’t have started until _after_ we all ate.”

“Oh, Richard,” Lori says, “it’s family. What did you expect?”

Rick smiles. “Aren’t I supposed to expect that hanging out with my family is nice and just always be disappointed? Isn’t that how family works?”

Daryl reaches over and puts his arm around Rick, plays with his curls at the nape of his neck. “You do that, baby, if it makes you happy.”

Rick looks over at Daryl and Daryl gets lost for a moment in Rick’s eyes, bluer than the summer sky above them. He only snaps out of it when Carl goes, “GROSS! Adults,” and rolls his eyes. Across from him, the other couples are staring as well.

Merle wrinkles his nose. “I feel like I need to throw up, but if I do, it’s just going to come out as a glittery rainbow. That shit is disgusting.”

Daryl slides a look over to Lori in hopes that she’ll defend them. Instead, she just raises an eyebrow. “Yo diggity.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “I can be sweet with my _partner_ , okay? You people do realize that it’s going to be a year next week, right?”

Lori laughs. “Honey, _you_ do _realize_ that it’ll be a year next week for _all of us_?”

“Nu huh,” Merle says, distraught. “Ain’t been that long.”

“Was summer when we got together,” T-Dog corrects him, “and it’s summer now, man.”

Merle frowns and thinks. Shane reaches forward and ruffles his tiny buzzcut. “Don’t think too hard or you’ll get headaches.”

“We been fairies for a year?” Merle asks him.

“We’ve been guys who have sex while we channel surf titties for a year.”

“Mmmmm,” Merle says with a fond look in his eye that makes _Daryl_ want to throw up. “Nice year.”

“Let’s talk about something besides titties for a minute?” Rick says with a shake of his head. “Lori, how’s school?”

Lori smiles. “Wonderful. Next semester I have a practicum, which means I’ll actually be working in a hospital. As a nurse! Well, not a certified nurse, but a nurse in training.”

“She’ll get there,” T-Dog says and leans forward to do the typical L-Dog eskimo kiss that makes Carl facepalm. “My baby can do anything.”

“And then,” Daryl says, “Carl will be set with a nurse and a cop as his parents.”

Rick elbows him. “And a service manager and a cellphone tower engineer in addition.”

Daryl kicks him under the table and blushes. Merle furrows his brow.

“Did...did my baby brother...get a promotion?”

Daryl shrugs and grabs a chip off of Rick’s plate, trying to devote all of his attention to it. “Not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Rick says and Daryl glares at him as he breaks the pact to not make a fuss out of this. “Daryl’s manager retired and they practically _begged_ him to step up. And the owner of the company is pretty much a no-show, so Daryl _runs_ that place.”

“Still do repair, though,” Daryl says. “When I want.”

“Yeah, only now you get to throw people around when you want,” Rick says with a smile.

Daryl grins, nice and slow. “I’ll throw _you_ around when I want.”

“I’m going inside!” Carl says and stands up, giving all of the adults a judgemental headshake. “This is worse than the school lunch table.” He grabs a burger and heads into the house, the rest of the group laughing at his exit.

***

Everyone eventually gets their food and they have a rather good meal, catching up on everyone’s lives. At one point, Lori and Shane seem to get into a contest of who can sit on their partner’s laps for longer, but when Rick gives Daryl the big-eyes, Daryl flat out refuses and so Rick has to settle for some snuggling instead.

They stay out until dark and when the sun begins to set, Lori and T-Dog gather Carl for his weekend over at her apartment. Daryl and Rick bid goodbye to all of their guests and set about cleaning up, but it doesn’t take long for them to get distracted.

Daryl throws away the plastic plates and piles what actual dishes they did use into the sink. He’s just about to turn the faucet on when Rick slinks up behind him and puts his arms around Daryl’s waist. “Love you,” he whispers into his ear and then turns him slowly. Daryl allows himself to be turned, his body obeying Rick’s hands like a personal calling. He can’t keep the grin off his face and Rick smiles at him but shakes his head.

“What?” he asks Daryl and Daryl just keeps smiling.

“Just thinking about how nice it is,” he says and pulls Rick to him. “You remember that night Shane left me at the concert? And I stayed here?”

“Yeah?” Rick says and rubs his hands up and down Daryl’s arms.

“I thought about this. About this house,” Daryl looks around at the kitchen, “being ours. About me doing stupid dishes and you kissing me and just...it’s all real, you know? It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed about. _You’re_ everything I’ve ever dreamed about.”

Rick laughs and rolls his eyes. “Now you’re just trying to get laid.”

Daryl grins and leans his forehead against Rick’s. “You know it, baby.”

Rick smiles and then slowly leans forward and presses his lips to Daryl’s, takes his time as he moves them to the right angle and then slips his tongue inside. They kiss right there against the sink, losing themselves in one another until Rick pulls back just slightly, that dreamy and genuine smile still on his mouth. “Let’s go to bed. And I’ll let _you_ sit on _my_ lap this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Links:  
> [MAE's Rickyl Fics and Recs](http://maerickyl.tumblr.com/): Where you can find a list of my fanfic, fanfic recs, and snippets of works in progress.  
> [Michelle A. Emerlind](http://michelleaemerlind.tumblr.com/): My general tumblr where I put stuff? And things? And just whatever I want.


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